To Keep a Secret
by Mrs PurplePebble
Summary: Ch8-vorenus struggles with captivity as pullo struggles with freedom. Set S1E6 what excitement do the V/ullo boys get up to during the Egyptian siege? And in the hot Egyptian sun, how far will everyone go to keep a secret? please R&R on Hiatus
1. Prologue

Orginally posted 18/8/07 reposted here 06/02/10

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Salve,

So here it is the beginning of a brand new story. yay!

The pairings will be pretty exclusively V/ullo. Some Antony/Atia and seeing, as we will be in Egypt for the majority of the story a little Cleo/Caesar.

It set during season 1 and in Episode 8 (caesarion)

So short of the disclaimer here we go, hope you enjoy, and see you at the other end. pp xx

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is already owned by someone else (bbc/hbo/bruno heller etc..) any mean no offence my playing with them for a short time.

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To keep a Secret  
- Prologue (CH1)

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"Legionary, keep moving!"

The new centurion strained his voice to be heard over the noise of the rest of the men in the legion, and waited impatiently for the older man he addressed to obey his order.

Standing on the dirty sand of a Grecian beech, and staring out at a sea so rough that the boat in front of him was already straining to break its anchor ropes, Titus Pullo did not even hear the order. His eyes and ears were deaf to all around apart from the white waves repetitive dance as they crashed into one another again and again, drenching him in a fine salty spray, the smell and taste of which was so familiar it made his stomach heave and twist painfully.

It wasn't that he was scared, Titus Pullo wasn't scared of anything, and he always had a sharp blade to hand that would argue with anyone who said otherwise. He just really didn't want to get on another boat.

"LEGIONARY!"

The shout finally caught his attention and Pullo turned to look at the boat, already riding low in the waves and only getting lower as more men poured onboard, and saw a face he hadn't seen before beating a path to him.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Centurion Micades Servius demanded as he reached the still Pullo. "Get on the boat!"

Pullo swallowed hard as he looked down at the man, contempt etched on his face.

"With all due respect…" he paused, loathing to use the next word with someone who so obviously didn't deserve it, "Sir, no."

Servius' brow furrowed just a little as he narrowed his eyes at Pullo.

"What's your name Legionary?" he asked, forcing himself to soften his face. He was new to Thirteenth and to the cohort he commanded, and knew nothing of the man in front of him, or of those slowing around him.

Pullo pulled his shoulders rigid.

"Titus Pullo, Sir," he answered. "From the original Thirteenth." He could not help himself but say it. The men around him might walk under the Thirteenth standard, but Pullo had trouble recognising them as his brothers; most had originally been with another legion before today and only moved over after the vast majority of the Thirteenth had perished in the storm. "Optio to…"

"Original Thirteenth huh?" Servius interrupted, nodding in an attempt to try to look impressed. "Well Original, I don't know what you're used to, or who your piss-poor commander is," his face had hardened again, "but when I give you an order, I expect you to obey it. Now get on the fucking boat."

Pullo's eyes wandered to the water as he bit down the angry bile the centurion's insults forced into his throat. Where _was_ Vorenus anyway? And why wasn't he here, with him, overseeing this? Pullo wondered idly as the sound of the waves, licking closer to the camp and himself, drilled further into his head. Vorenus would understand his hesitance.

Servius followed Pullo's gaze and smiled. This was getting better and better. He would show this century how he dealt with people not obeying his every word.

"What's the matter, Original?" he questioned as he felt the rest of the lines around him slowing to a virtual stop, as everyone tried to see what was going on. "Scared of a little bit of water?"

Pullo's eyes snapped back to the man, his jaw tightening. "Fuck you sir," he hissed below his breath.

"Ha!" Servius laughed, now turning to play the crowd that was swelling around them. "Well no wonder most of the Thirteenth are dead."

"Say again?" Pullo threatened, as the anger he had previously bit down began to pulse through his veins.

"With men like you, the Thirteenth never stood a chance," Servius goaded further, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Pullo. "What happened, did you get frightened of the storm? Too scared of a little bit of water to help your brothers?"

With the vivid image of the friends he had lost, their dead and bloated corpses floating past him on the waves, and the memory of believing just for a short time that he had lost another, Pullo's temper snapped. Throwing himself at the centurion, he knocked him hard to the ground, and a roar erupted through the men as more came running closer to see what was happening.

III

Mark Antony sat with an unimpressed look on his face. Vorenus in front of him stood with his back rigidly snapped fully to attention; it had been that way from the minute he had walked in the tent, some time ago now. He ached all over, his head spun, and he desperately wanted to ease those complaining muscles. But until Antony gave the order, he wouldn't even dare to think he could.

"You disappoint me Vorenus," Antony finally spoke and got to his feet, throwing aside the scroll he had been pretending to study when he could stand to pretend no longer. "I thought better of you." Although Caesar had technically already had this conversation with the soldier, and much to Antony's disgust had decided not to punish him, the gods' favourite or not he saw no reason why that should stop him. He raised his voice. "_I_ expect better of you!"

Vorenus kept his eyes focused straight ahead as Antony moved around the desk and towards him. He had known this was coming, and he was determined not to rise to Antony's baiting.

"I did not think you would fool so easily," Antony snapped, "and yet here you stand, made a fool of by an old man with tears in his eyes!" Enraged further by Vorenus' lack of reaction, he continued. "You bring shame on yourself! You bring shame on the Thirteenth!" His face twisted with contempt "And you bring shame on me!"

Hoping finally to pull a reaction from the stoic man, he hid his smile as he saw Vorenus flinch in response to his last accusations.

Vorenus had already given all the excuses he had, but he could not defend himself any longer. "I acted for the good of the republic, not myself," he tried to explain.

"The Republic? THE REPUBLIC!" Antony slammed his fist heavily on to the desk "YOU are sworn to me Vorenus… to me!! Not the Republic, Not Caesar, ME! And IF I told you to go cut the head off every second man in this legion I expect you to do it! If I told you to fuck Juno herself, you would do it! AND IF I asked you to burn the senate house, you would do it! Why?"

Vorenus paled. "Because I am sworn to you," he answered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. He had sworn his life to the man in front of him, and that wasn't something he would deny.

Nodding, Antony took a calming breath and regarded the soldier for a second. Despite a night having passed since Vorenus and Pullo had arrived back in camp, and longer since they had escaped the island they claimed to have been wrecked on, he still looked far too pale.

Pushing up from the desk he stepped forward again. "Have you any idea how lucky you are?" he questioned. "Caesar could have had you flogged to death in front of the whole fucking legion."

"Caesar is most merciful," Vorenus admitted, not only thinking of the treatment he had received, but of the whispered tales he had heard about the return of Brutus and Cicero, and how Caesar had embraced them.

"Hmm," Antony agreed, as he walked behind Vorenus. "So _he_ is. But maybe I was too generous in taking you back?" Antony questioned softly.

Vorenus lowered his head, dread growing in his stomach at where Mark Antony was heading with this. He needed this job, and he loved the new position he was now in.

Rounding on Vorenus, Antony looked to his lowered gaze for a second and his eyes flicked to the uniform Vorenus wore. Reaching out to cup the man's face, he turned it up to met his eyes.

"Perhaps your new rank is too…" he paused in surprise as he felt a fever beneath his touch. "…demanding of you?" He finished, quickly recovering.

Vorenus shook his head as he tried to ignore the fingers that now moved to play at the back of his neck.

Antony's hand trailed across Vorenus' shoulder and down onto his chest. "But how can I trust you, when you let our enemies walk free?"

Vorenus looked to the hand that was now laying flat against his chest, rising and falling with his every breath. "My actions were… foolish," Vorenus admitted, the word leaving a bitter taste in his throat. "It will not happen again."

"Oh I know," Antony admitted, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he leant in closer still, and his hand jumped around Vorenus' throat, his grip now tight. "Because if it does," he continued, and Vorenus fought not to react when he felt the man's lips brushing softly against his ear and his fingers squeeze tighter against his Adams apple, "I swear I will slit your throat myself."

Suddenly a roar of voices from outside the tent grabbed their attention, and both Mark Antony and Vorenus head's snapped up at the noise, the sound of a brawl not foreign to either of them. Just then a soldier, flanked by Antony's door guards whose instructions had been to prevent just such an interruption, stumbled into the tent and fumbled a salute.

"Speak," Mark Antony commanded immediately, with a snarl on his face as he quickly broke the contact with Vorenus and stepped behind his desk.

"Sir, Mark Antony, sir, there's a fight, a legionary wouldn't get on the boat and then…" the soldier's words tumbled over each other, his nervousness at dealing with high-ranking officers plain for all to see.

"Who?" Mark Antony asked, impatiently interrupting, and was amused to see from the corner of his eye Vorenus tighten his jaw. It seemed they both had the same thought, the soldier's very next words proving them right.

"It's, Titus Pullo Sir, of the Thirteenth, and…"

Holding up his hand to stop the boy, Antony turned his eyes to Vorenus, who was now standing smartly to attention as he had been before, and saw the concern shining in his eyes. "Oh just go and sort your dog out," he sighed.

"Sir," Vorenus forced himself to salute properly as he turned on his heel

"Vorenus!" Antony called as the soldier reached the door.

Turning back, Vorenus' steps faltered as his eyes locked with Antony's, which spoke so clearly of all that had already been threatened he need say nothing more, and they both knew it.

Pulling away after a second, and nodding his acknowledgement of Antony's unspoken words, Vorenus lowered his head once more and pushed out of the tent into the dust of the camp.

As he began to weave his way through the crowds, following the noise and the stumbling soldier who had first announced the problem, he could not help but wonder if he would ever be grateful for Pullo's trouble making again. He was certain Antony's threat was no idle one and that if not interrupted could have been worse.

As he neared the noise Vorenus turned his mind to the matter at hand; what had Pullo done now?

Through the cheering crowd Vorenus watched as Pullo and a Centurion he did not recognise rolled in the sand, each attempting to throw blows at each other.

Rolling his eyes Vorenus couldn't help but wonder how, in the first few minutes Vorenus had been away from Pullo's side in over a week, he had managed to find himself a fight.

Watching closely, he could see the centurion spit more curses at Pullo, and Vorenus saw Pullo's hand twitch closer to the sword on his hip. Enough was enough.

"Pul-lo!"

Vorenus' strong and authoritative voice reached him the second his hand gripped his blade, and a second before he ended the fight permanently.

Pulling hard to rein back his temper, Pullo sucked in a deep breath and let go of the man. His eyes frantically moved to search the crowd for the only voice that could cut through his red rage.

The crowd around Vorenus parted, and suddenly all of them were saluting the high-ranking officer, including Servius, who at least had the decency to look sheepish as he slid in the sand trying to find his feet.

"What in Hades is going on here?" Vorenus questioned as he stalked through the parting crowd to the Centurion, and Pullo.

Scrambling to his feet, Pullo slammed his fist into his chest and out again in a salute to his friend. "I…err…"

"I wasn't asking you, legionary," Vorenus snapped, un-disguised contempt shining in his eyes as he turned to Servius.

Servius smiled as he stepped in front of Pullo to meet Vorenus' gaze. He knew nothing of the man in front of him, but he knew a superior officer when he saw one, and he knew what a good position he was in. Now he really would show Titus Pullo his authority.

"HE," Servius looked back pointedly at Pullo, "disobeyed my direct order. He is a coward, and an embarrassment to the legion, Sir."

"An embarrassment?" Vorenus repeated raising his eyebrows to Pullo, who just shrugged.

Servius nodded, grinning wickedly, aware of nothing but the fact that he could almost taste the man's punishment. "Scared of the water, I'd say," he added conspiratorially.

Vorenus snapped his attention back to the Centurion, his eyes dark and intense with a look that wiped the smile immediately from the man's lips. "You had a simple job, Centurion," he spoke, a little too calmly as he leant closer so that his word's resounded loudly in the man's head. "You cannot do it, and that makes me think that _you're_ simple."

Servius paled, unsure where this was going. "But he wouldn't get on the boat," he mumbled, trying to defend himself. "He attacked me."

Vorenus didn't doubt the man for a second. "Pullo," he spoke, not removing his gaze from the centurion in front of him. "When we get to Egypt you alone will be on latrine duty for a week."

Servius' eyes widened. "You can't… that's not enough…"

"If you cannot keep control of the men in your charge…" Vorenus snapped, loud enough so all could hear, his words silencing the Centurion, "…you shall be in charge of no man."

Servius shook his head, his dread growing at what he expected next. "No…no…"

Vorenus knew that in all honesty Servius' actions had probably just been an attempt to show his authority over his new men, but unfortunately he had picked the wrong way and person to try with. Now Vorenus had the opportunity to teach his own lesson, not only that he would not tolerate any of his centurions unable to keep control of their men, but that those who did well could expect reward.

"You!" Vorenus pointed to the man who had initially come to find him. "What's your name?"

Looking to Servius, his former commander, the boy stepped forward. "Manius Fulvius…."

"Well Manius Fulvius …. Congratulations, you are now a centurion, of full rank and honours of the man you are replacing." He nodded to where Servius still stood, his face as dark as the storm clouds rapidly gathering overhead.

The boy forced a snappy salute past his shaking hands. "Thank you, sir," he managed to answer, his voice barely carrying past the cheer that erupted from the braying crowd.

Ignoring him, Vorenus turned now to the guards that had followed him from Mark Antony's tent. "Take him to Mark Antony." His eyes flicked back to Servius. "And tell him of my decision," he commanded, before he looked to the noisy crowd who, as quick as they had deserted them to watch the show, now under his gaze began to reform their lines with military precision.

Pullo watched as Servius, head bowed, followed to where he was being led, and was surprised at the lack of resistance from the man. Pullo had certainly taken his own demotion all those years a go a hell of a lot worse.

Only as the crowd around them began to disperse did Vorenus look to his friend.

"Latrine duty?" Pullo asked, unable to disguise the smile on his face that resulted just from seeing his friend again.

Vorenus sighed silently. "I should have had you flogged," he admitted, and thought of Mark Antony's similar threat.

"Again?" Pullo questioned, his eyes dipping just slightly, looking to find the light scar that rested just above Vorenus' cheek bone. The last time he had laid his hands on a superior officer it had been him, and that scar, the result. That time, however, he had been flogged, receiving more than a few scars of his own, and imprisoned.

Vorenus turned away with a roll of his eyes. "Just get back in line," he ordered.

Pullo's chest grew heavy, and his smile faded. "I cant."

Vorenus sighed. Why just once couldn't he do as he was told? Turning back he saw a flick of emotion in Pullo's eyes that was gone so quick that, had he been looking at someone he didn't know as well, he would have trouble swearing it was there at all. But this was Pullo, and he immediately understood his reluctance. If anyone got close enough to see, there was a good chance the same might be reflecting in his.

"You have to," he answered matter-of-factly, ignoring the flicker. If he acknowledged it in Pullo he would have to acknowledge it in himself, and it was just easier to ignore.

"I don't," Pullo answered childishly, "and anyway, Triton hardly shows me great favour at the moment, so I think I will not."

"Triton does not like to be mocked," Vorenus explained, for the hundredth time. "We have increased the offering, and if _you_ can keep your mouth shut this time, we will be fine," he insisted, trying to be convinced by his own words.

Pullo watched as Vorenus' jaw set on the last word, and he knew he could not push his friend much further.

"I…" he began.

"Pullo," Vorenus growled through gritted teeth, not wanting to argue this anymore. "Get… on… the… boat."

Instinctively Pullo pulled his back straight in response to Vorenus' tone. "Sir," he replied with a salute.

With a nod of his head that confirmed their conversation was over, Vorenus pulled his eyes from Pullo's and strode reluctantly back towards Mark Antony's tent.

Pullo kept his eyes on his friend's back, trying to draw as much strength as possible from his words and presence, until he lost him in the crowd. Swallowing hard, he turned and took his place back in line. After all, Titus Pullo wasn't scared of anything.

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A/n: Well I hope you enjoyed the first instalment and that you come back for next chapter.

Please let me know what you thought, you know where the review button is; right down there in the corner, looking at you with big puppy dog eyes. ;p

Remember reviews keep the FF world spinning.

T.N.T stay safe PP xxx


	2. Rome v Egypt

A/N.

Hey everyone, so next here's the next chapter.

With much love to all you that help me, not only with writing but get through every day.

Thanks for all your reviews, every single one makes me smile, and brightens my day.  
Special mention and receiver of shinny gold star (lol) this chapter goes to _'drum roll'… _Anja25 who was super fast in getting that first review in.  
Knowing that people are out there reading and hopefully enjoying makes all the difference.

So without much further rambling...

Onwards...

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To keep a secret  
- Chapter Two

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Antony lay in his lover's arms and looked out to the midday sun. Rome was hot. Hotter even, or so it seemed to him, than Egypt or Syria where he had broken his journey on the way back, and even the fan boy standing in the shaded corner of the room could do nothing to disguise that fact.

He had arrived back late yesterday, the dry and dusty air of the city quickly removing all memory of the damp but eventless boat journey he had just completed. Receiving word of his return, Atia had wasted no time in receiving him and reintroducing herself to his body.

Even now he could feel her fingers trailing up and down his chest.

He had no doubt that his latest title helped to sharpen her appetite. Master of the Horse, the most powerful position after consul, the most powerful man currently in Rome – his chest puffed out just a little as he thought of it. He wasn't un-fond of power himself.

Still, he hadn't liked leaving Caesar in Egypt, especially with so few men.

The news he had received upon landing at Brundisium had done nothing to quell his unease at the situation. The palace was under siege. The boy king, not having taken too well to his sister's return, had escaped one night, and now had an army gathered behind him, determined to return him to the throne. The men – his men – would be outnumbered by an enemy far more accustomed to the conditions they would be fighting in.

"Where are you?" Atia snapped, her ministrations for the last few minutes provoking no response from the man.

"Hmm?" Antony finally pulled his eyes away from the sunlit window.

Atia pressed her lips to his chest. "Where," she asked, as she slowly dragged them up and across his nipple, "are," eventually stopping to nip at his neck, "you?"

Antony stirred instantly, his hands moving automatically to her hips, and with little effort pulled her atop of his waiting hardness, which only grew as she gasped in delight.

"I think you can see," he growled as she began moving, "where I am!"

Atia giggled. She did so enjoy having Antony back. She may have had others that could satisfy her, but none she cared about like the man below her. He gave her security and power, everything she craved. At his side she was the prima donna in Rome, right at the top of the social ladder, and she loved it there.

As she rode her lover like a prize stallion, she couldn't help but imagine the look on Servilia's face when she heard he was back, and with a new title to boot. It would be priceless. Perhaps she should throw a welcome back party? She could invite the old hag and tell her the news herself!

Lying back lazily, Antony's mind moved straight back to Egypt. There would be a hell of an encounter, of that he was sure. That is until something, as it inevitably did, broke the deadlock. The conditions would be tough, the decisions to be made harder, and yet he couldn't silence the voice inside him that wished he was there. Instead he had to stay in Rome, play nice with the other senators and make sure all was ready for Caesar's return. Despite the difficulty of the situation he faced, Antony was convinced Caesar would win, and return to Rome with ease. After all, the man had escaped tighter traps, and with less reliable men under him.

Growling again, Antony thought of the man he had left in charge under Caesar. Loyal? He had made sure of that. Capable? More than. Yet when Caesar had asked which such man he should make camp prefect upon their arrival, and only one name had jumped to mind, Antony had faltered in saying it, knowing full well it meant he would remain in Egypt as long as Caesar did.

"Him!" Antony argued his own reasons speeding his words, when the name had finally been spoken. "But you cannot trust him. Let me take him to Rome."

Caesar's eyes had narrowed in the darkened room, surprised at the opposition. "He has always fulfilled all I have asked of him in the past. He will do fine."

"But…"

"It is my choice, Antony," Caesar reminded him in a voice that would not stand to be argued with.

Antony shrugged. "Your choice," he admitted.

Although he had not liked it at the time, Antony knew it was the right choice. He could think of no one he would rather have under him or supporting Caesar – other than himself of course.

Gripping Atia he rolled her over and slammed her into the bed, speeding the rhythm and depth to his now raging appetite and forcing her previous gasps of delight into howl's of pleasure.

As his name ripped screaming from Atia's throat – how he liked hearing it best – and echoed through the hallways of her villa, alerting anyone of the household that did not already know that he was home, he realised that being in Rome did have some benefits after all.

III

The Praefectus castorum barely felt it when the sweat on the inside of his heavy helmet condensed into a droplet, and skittered down his neck.

The metal was so hot crushing against his temples, if asked, he would be prepared to swear it had come straight from the forge furnace, and despite the layers that protected his skin from its scorching metal rings, he knew the chain shirt was branding its pattern into his back. So deep they would not be gone by the time he had to fasten on his armour the next day.

The burning sun beat down with all the might of the Egyptian summer, and the Roman couldn't help but wonder briefly if Ra, the Egyptians' hawk-headed sun god, was favoring his children and punishing the invaders with his fiery wrath.

The heat was certainly not helping his own men any, most of whom were reluctant to stray out of the cool shadow of the palace walls that they guarded.

He need no more reason than that, but owning many, to try and keep the direct fighting to a minimum. However, on some occasions like today, when a messenger weighed down with important reports – his own to Mark Antony included – needed to escape undetected, it was unavoidable.

Looking along the line to faces as flushed as his own, he knew the sooner this was over the better, so before taking another breath he gave the order.

"Forward!"

His voice hoarse from giving a hundred orders a day moved everyone including his own feet, and despite Caesar's direct instruction not to, he led his men to the battle.

III

Servius grunted as he felt a large body ram into his back.

"Forward!" his centurion growled furiously in his ear, reporting their commander's order as he shoved him again, and Servius swore below his breath as he was pushed further towards the enemy line.

This was not what he wanted, what he deserved. He should be the one behind, ordering the men, not the one bathing his sword in blood with every thrust. Twisting and turning desperately to avoid the sharp swords that were intent on finding a new home in his body, he stole a look across the crowded battlefield, and somewhere through the mass he saw the flash of red of their camp leader's helmet. He would be quite happy to bathe his sword in _that_ man's blood.

He had worked hard to gain the rank that had been so callously stripped from him, months back in Greece, and he was not ready to let it go just yet.

Moving automatically, defending himself and defeating his enemies in front of him, Servius' mind began to wonder to happier times back when he was in charge, and silently he vowed to do anything he could to find that happiness again.

III

The sound and sight of the battle now raging around him was so familiar to the commander, he barely even registered it, his body moving more out of habit than any willing of his own. But as the heat washed over him again, all the men moving around him blurred just for a second into meaningless shapes dancing through the dusty haze, before he shook them into focus, just in time to hear his name.

"Vorenus, Sir," the first spear appeared at his side and whispered a report that lightened his heart. "He's free."

Fumbling quickly for the whistle around his neck that had been there for longer than his closest friend, Vorenus pushed the metal object to his lips, breathed deep and –

Felt his lip split as one of Ptolemy's men's well-aimed elbow landed on his jaw.

Spitting the metal and blood to one side, he spun with a growl escaping his throat and fire burning in his eyes, to see the man that had hit him.

Only for the man, a cocky smile frozen on his face, to fall forward and land at his feet, sliding off the sharp blade of Titus Pullo.

Just for a second everything around him froze as Pullo shot him a grin that sent a shiver down his spine, and a longing he would never admit pound through his veins because even in the heat of the battle he could see sparkling eyes that spoke of a secret they had shared accompanied it.

Ripping his eyes away from the intense gaze of the man he trusted more than any other, and the memory of a night he had sworn never to think of again, he saw a sight to make his blood run cold. Moving without thinking, his hand gripped Pullo's shoulder just as Pullo's hand landed on him, and they both spun each other out the way of two swinging blades neither could have seen. With a quick gaze to make sure the other had stayed on his feet, no words of thanks needed, their contact was broken and they both dived deeper into he crowd.

Instantly in soldier mode, Vorenus ensured that at least four of the enemies advancing on him fell to his sword, before reaching once more for the whistle. Forcing the dirty metal into his mouth, ignoring the throbbing pain from his swollen lip, he blew into it heavily.

Three sharp blasts on the whistle and even as they fought on, every Roman ear on the battlefield was turned to him, waiting for the order that was coming.

"RETREAT!"

III

Servius' ear was one of those that were tuned. As great as his hatred for the man might be, it did not override his training. When the command came he automatically felt the pressure of the man behind him ease on his back, and his feet tried to step back. Fighting against his instinct he took a step forward, closer to the enemy.

"SERVIUS!" Manius Fulvius' voice quickly reached his ear, as his centurion noticed his lack of compliance with the order.

Smiling, he took another step forward as the rest of the men dropped further away.

"Servius!" Fulvius called again as he followed his legionary. He was proud of his new job, and protective over his men. He knew Servius was not happy, but that didn't mean he was going to let him go. He hadn't lost anyone from his cohort yet, and he wasn't planning on doing so today. "Come on, back to camp Servius!" he ordered as he landed his hand on the man's shoulder. "They'll still be here tomorrow."

Spinning, and feigning surprise at Fulvius closeness in case anyone was looking,

Servius' blood-hungry sword quickly found a new soft belly to rip through, as he pulled the centurion towards him.

"Oh." Fulvius gasped in surprise as the unexpected pain ripped up his spine, and he fell forward in to Servius' arms.

"I'm sorry," Servius whispered as he pushed the man off his sword and dropped him to the ground, ripping the centurion mark from his chest as he did so. "But that's my job."

Reaching out with the last of his strength Manius Fulvius gripped Servius' ankle and tried to pull him back to the advancing enemy.

"No," he gasped. He knew his chance at life was slipping past, but his last thought was that of stopping this traitor returning to the camp, to his friends.

Looking to the gate that was beginning to close, Servius had no time for this. Slashing once more with the tip of his sword, he opened the man's wrist, freed his foot, and without a second thought began to run towards the closing gate. He knew that being last man in would mean he would be first on guard duty, but he didn't care. It had been worth it.

Tightly he clutched the small metal centurion crest in his fist. Shooting a smile in Vorenus' direction as he slid past the closing barricade, he made it inside the palace grounds, just as the giant door slammed with an almighty creak of wood.

Leaning back against the closed door just for a second, Vorenus paused to get his breath back.

All his men in front of him were doubled over, panting hard as they tried to do the same; each and every one of them boasted various different battle wounds, some more vicious than others. The months under siege from the former king's supporters had been tough on everyone, and encounters like today didn't help. The small half a legion of men had only grown smaller as the days passed.

"Pullo?" he called as he stood up and began to look around him. "Take the…" He paused; his second was nowhere to be seen. So used to the man being by his side, Vorenus paled a little when he realised that he wasn't. "PULLO?"

All the centurions around him looked up as Vorenus' loud voice commanded their attention, and demanded an answer. Slowly they began to look around at themselves, and the realisation that the legionary wasn't there to answer whispered through the assembly.

"PULLO!"

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A/N. ohh is that a mean place to leave it? Where is one half of our beloved Vullo?

Tune in next time to find out.

Review, review, review! Pretty please, with cookies ;op

T.N.T PP xx


	3. Lost & Found

A/N: Salve,  
Sorry it's been so long people. Real life + writers block does not make for quick posting. Anywhere here's the next chapter, and seeing as you've been waiting so long, I'll keep you waiting no more.

Onwards…

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**To keep a Secret  
-Chapter three**

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Spinning around from the sea of blank faces answering his call, Vorenus pushed himself as close as possible to the meshed window in the gate, his eyes frantically scanning for any fallen bodies he could see. But it was no use; in-between the throbbing mass that had forced them back, all that could be seen was a flash of red uniform here and there. There was no way of identifying it to anyone in particular.

"By Pluto's mercy," Vorenus hissed under his breath as his heart lurched.

Suddenly a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he couldn't stop himself from jumping around in surprise.

"You called?"

Standing just taller that Vorenus, his face un-shaven, his dark hair beginning to grow out, and a grin on his blood-stained face, Titus Pullo stood and bathed his superior in his shadow.

With his eyes flaring wide, Vorenus fought with himself not to embrace the man as relief flooded his veins. "Where in Hades where you?" he snapped instead.

Pullo's grin waned a little. "Taking a piss," he answered truthfully. "Why?" He peered out the door over Vorenus' shoulder. "Did I miss something?"

Vorenus just shook his head in disbelief.

Pullo nodded. "Did we lose many today?" he asked as he too saw the flash of a Roman uniform, reminding him of the seriousness of their situation.

_One less than I originally thought_, Vorenus' mind automatically answered, and he had to catch himself from saying it out loud. "I don't know," he responded eventually, his voice tired. "Too many, no doubt."

Pullo nodded as he looked back to the gate, his eyes instinctively narrowing as he spied the enemy.

"You!" Vorenus pointed at Servius, who was desperately trying to fade to the back of the crowd, hopeful to get away from his duty. "You hurt?"

Disappointed that the camp prefect had recognised him, despite Vorenus barely having glanced in his direction as he'd snuck past the gate, Servius looked to his chest covered in Fulvius' blood and considered lying. But under Vorenus' gaze, he eventually shook his head.

"On the gate then. Send me word when it's safe to collect our men. We leave none to the sand. Everyone else…" Vorenus looked to the now standing men, his attention back to what had to be done, "back to camp. Rest. Eat. Be ready. Dismissed."

Looking back to Pullo, Vorenus watched as the big man began to step in the same direction as the rest of the soldiers. He wasn't prepared to let him go just yet. "You, with me."

With a sigh that was more for show than anything else, Pullo changed direction and followed Vorenus' path, an action that he was used to by now – even more so, if that were possible, since Vorenus had named him as his official assistant. Optio to the Praefectus Castorum. Even Pullo, who had long ago given up on working the promotion ladder, had to admit it had a nice ring to it.

Looking up from the dirty sand, he watched as all eyes in the camp turned to the commander as he walked through the rows of tents that lined both ends of the encampment, making up the barracks. Pullo knew that to everyone they passed, Vorenus appeared every bit the strong centurion he normally was, straight-backed, powerful, and in control. Head of the camp, the rank every soldier dreamed of achieving. But as Pullo's eyes turned to him, he could see in Vorenus' face the strain of keeping himself upright, how his steps faltered just a little when no one was looking, and it gnawed at Pullo's heart.

Since they had returned from their successful mission in the desert, and Mark Antony had left, Pullo had sat by and watched his friend pushing himself to his limit, determined to live up to his new position, no matter what the cost. He'd hoped Vorenus might have remembered his lesson from last time, when he had returned to full duties despite being unable to cast off the chill he had contracted from that damned shipwreck, and became so weak he could barely stand. It had finally taken an injury to force him to rest that time. But Pullo wasn't prepared to stand by and watch that happen again.

Grabbing a water jug as they passed, Pullo surprised himself with a wince as the weight of the jug alerted him to a wound on his arm. Ignoring the brief pain, he took a quick swig of the water himself before speeding his pace to catch Vorenus.

"Drink?" He offered as he pressed the flagon into his superior's hands, trying not to give him a choice.

Vorenus was startled briefly, as a jug appeared in front of him, and he shot a questioning look at Pullo. Finding no answer, he gave in to temptation, and enjoyed the brief relief the cool water gave against the heat.

"Vorenus!" Suddenly a voice grabbed their attention.

"Vorenus!" The cry came not from a soldier's voice but a slave.

Looking with his eyes narrowed, ready to deter whomever it was that had interrupted Vorenus' brief pause, Pullo saw Caesar's scribe skirting through the soldiers.

"You're done fighting for the day?" Posca asked, not even pausing to get his breath as he arrived in front of Vorenus.

Vorenus looked around him briefly, unable to stop himself wondering if the answer was not obvious.

"I am," he admitted eventually.

"Then Caesar requests your report as soon as it is ready," the slave spoke plainly – "But before the sun sets." – and to the point.

Vorenus nodded his agreement, understanding the unsubtle hint that their leader did not like to be kept waiting.

Posca paused as his eyes skimmed Vorenus' uniform. "You are aware of the queen's request?"

Again Vorenus nodded, and Pullo noticed how his jaw tightened a little more. "I am."

"Good, good." With one job down, Posca bustled off back through the crowd, with a list of things to do still in front of him.

Looking down to the jug in his hand, Vorenus quickly passed it back to Pullo and turned away.

Groaning to himself, Pullo watched as Vorenus' shoulders stiffened again, and he turned back to business.

III

Servius stomped up and down in front of the gate. He was bored, fed up and hungry. He could smell cooking on the breeze and it made his stomach growl. He couldn't think of anything more unfair than Vorenus' rule of last in, first on duty. If he was in charge, things would be different, everything would be different.

That son of a whore Pullo wouldn't be free to walk around like he was someone special, for a start. He would be bloodied in a prison somewhere, the very least of what he deserved.

"Legionary Servius!" A voice calling his name caught his attention. Turning, he watched as a member of his tent rushed towards him. The fellow legionary, once under his command, now outranked him as Fulvius' chosen assistant.

"Have you seen Fulvius?" the man demanded as he reached him. "We can't find him."

Servius' mind went blank. He hadn't expected to have to answer that question so soon.

III

With his mind on his report to Caesar, Vorenus' feet took him straight to his own tent at the centre of the camp.

Following him into the tent, which stood so tall that if anything showed off his new rank, it did, Pullo paused as he watched Vorenus began to undress, first ripping off his heavy plumed helmet and dropping it to the bundle of blankets that denoted his bed. The tent might have changed, but the way Vorenus treated it hadn't. To him it was a place of sleep, storage, and protection from the elements, if required. He had no need for it as a status symbol.

Also knowing of Cleopatra's request, Pullo moved to straighten Vorenus' dress uniform. Caesar might not care about a blooded uniform, but the queen had become more and more insistent that when soldiers were allowed inside the inner sanctum of the palace, they were perfectly groomed, with no sign they had been involved in even a slight altercation, let alone a fight for their life. As ridiculous as Pullo found it, Vorenus was bound by the rules, and the fact that even Posca had felt the need to mention it indicated that the queen was unwavering on her demands today.

Sneaking a glance back, Pullo found Vorenus was already down to his undershirt.

"Wait?" he asked, his mouth moving before his mind could talk him out of it. "Rest for a moment."

Vorenus shook his head, not even looking up. "I need to report to Caesar."

"You need to relax."

Vorenus did not even hear him. "Pass my leather breast plate."

Rolling his eyes, Pullo reluctantly reached for the heavy plate, and winced under his breath again as the weight of it pulled on his injured arm.

Vorenus heard that, his friend's pain sounded loud in his head, and he was next to him in a second. "You hurt?" he demanded to know.

Pullo looked to his arm. "A scratch," he insisted.

Pulling the blood-soaked clothing away from his friend's shoulder, Vorenus looked for himself. "It needs a stitch."

Pullo looked down. He could barely feel the wound now. "Gerrai," he disagreed, his other hand brushing Vorenus' as he pulled at the fabric to look closer himself.

Vorenus fought not to flinch at the touch. "Get it stitched," he insisted as he tried to turn his thoughts back to the job at hand, and reached for his own uniform. Stepping away, he unconsciously rolled his stiff shoulders as he tried to convince himself to put the heavy uniform back on.

Seeing the movement, Pullo sensed an opportunity, and moved his hands quickly to his friend's shoulders. "If you let me help."

Vorenus' back stiffened as his mind raced to the last time he had heard those words.

Opening his mouth to reprimand the soldier, he paused as Pullo's hands began working on his shoulders; he couldn't deny it felt good. It felt even better as Pullo's fingers snuck beneath the neckline of the thin eagle shirt he still wore.

"This is bloody," Pullo quickly found a convenient lie as he moved to strip Vorenus of the shirt altogether.

Throwing it to one side without a care to where it landed, he looked back to what he'd uncovered, and his eyes widened at how deeply imprinted the pattern of the chain shirt marring Vorenus normally unmarked back was. Although every soldier had the print just after disrobing, normally it disappeared quickly once the offending shirt was removed. Once more it became apparent what Vorenus' hectic schedule, which allowed him little time out of uniform, was doing to the man.

"When did you oil last?" Pullo asked, his fingers tracing across Vorenus' dry skin.

"Yesterday," Vorenus lied. In all honesty, he could not remember the last time he had time enough to indulge in such a basic luxury. In truth, when Pullo's hands were on him he struggled to remember anything.

"Hmm," Pullo grunted, recognising the lie. He hadn't seen any of the slaves around Vorenus' tent yesterday. In fact, he had barely seen Vorenus at his tent yesterday. Taking a quick glance around the room, he failed to find an oil flask to confirm his superior's story.

Slowly he began to work his own dry hands over his friend's back. His strong fingers massaged tight circles into Vorenus' muscles, taking pleasure in the way the marks quickly disappeared as the blood rushed to his skin.

Taking a deep breath as the rough fingers caressed his sore shoulders, Vorenus slowly begin to relax, leaning back gently into his friend's hands.

Being so close to the thing he wanted most soothed the nagging need for it. Desperately he tried to convince himself Pullo's actions were nothing more than those duties of an Optio to his Centurion.

Those illusions were shattered a moment later, when Pullo's fingers slipped around his hips to brush briefly across his hipbone.

"Pullo!" he moaned through gritted teeth, then wished he hadn't, as the Optio hastily moved his ministrations higher and returned to massaging his superiors' back.

III

Thinking quickly, Servius forced his expression to fall and his eyes to fill with water.

"He didn't make it," he admitted as he turned back to the gate and shot a smile at the convenient enemy outside. "I tried," he hitched his voice, "But his leg was cut and I couldn't…"

"Fine," the fellow legionary grunted. The loss of not only his superior but a trusted friend tugged deep in his stomach, but his surprise at seeing someone report the news with such emotion tinged it with embarrassment. "I shall report to– "

"He gave me his rank," Servius interrupted, a little too quickly, and held out his hand showing the crest he had taken.

The legionary's lips pursed. He had seen this man in front of him being demoted, and this latest development seemed highly suspicious. If anyone should become centurion in Fulvius' place, it should be him. "The final decision rests with Camp Prefect, of course," he answered warily. "I shall report the events to him. Immediately."

Servius nodded. "Of course." He smiled false agreement, cursing Vorenus' name under his breath once more, knowing all too well he would not recommend him for promotion again. Promotion in the army was almost as haphazard as you could get, with no formal channels to work ones way up. Unless you were born high enough in society to be an officer before you had served a day, you relied on Mars to give you the – generally blood soaked – opportunity to impress those that mattered. Relied on the god, Servius believed, and the depth of your own cunning.

"If you think he is not busy enough," he added.

The legionary paused, remembering the way Titus Pullo looked at all who dared approach their commander. The Optio knew only too well of the man's reputation, and he was wise enough to realise that there was a beast he would rather not tackle, if he could avoid doing so.

"Maybe First Spear can decide," he answered, more to himself as he turned away and headed back.

Servius said nothing; the grin that he could not fight from his face betrayed his feelings clearer than he would have liked, if anyone other than the enemy he once again turned to face had been looking.

III

"Pullo!"

In the cool shadow of the large tent Pullo smiled, his eyes darkening at the sound of Vorenus' voice growling his name again. Leaning forward, he slipped his hands around Vorenus' hips again and up across his chest, pulling him back to lie against his own chest.

Vorenus set his jaw. He couldn't take much more of this; it felt so good to feel Pullo's hands on him, those strong arms wrapped around him filling his senses with the smell of the man he couldn't live without. Too good. This wasn't the desert, and he couldn't allow himself to repeat his mistake.

"Go!" Vorenus ordered, his voice husker than he liked. "Go… to… the… gate!"

Pullo froze. "Say again," he hissed past the rapidly forming lump in his throat, un-willing to believe he had heard correctly.

"Go," Vorenus fought not to growl again as Pullo's breath warmed his neck, "to the gate. Replace Servius. Wait for me to collect the men."

Pullo could not believe what he was hearing, so instead of obeying his commander he slowly he slid his hands down the man's chest.

"STOP!" Vorenus ordered, stepping forward and breaking their contact instantly.

Pullo wasn't quick enough to hide the disappointment on his face, as his excitement died.

Turning, Vorenus caught the look, and his hands formed fists to stop himself moving back to those inviting arms. "You know this can't…"

Pullo's back straightened; he knew what was coming, and he did not need to hear the words. "Sir." he interrupted with a formal salute, and turned quickly towards the door.

"Pullo!" Vorenus snapped. He didn't know what the man expected him to do. "I need someone on the gate," he explained, "for the men. Wait for…"

Pullo left without even looking back, or letting his superior finish. His appetite raged almost out of control, and if he looked back, he might not have been able to leave. Stomping away, he searched for anything to think about other than the feel of Vorenus' body beneath his fingers.

"Get stitched first!" Vorenus' tight voice suddenly echoed around the courtyard, and all within sight turned to see their captain standing shirtless in the doorway of his tent.

Pullo turned, not missing a step, but not looking back as he changed direction and headed towards the medical quarters. No matter what they may be, or ever would become to each other, he could not ignore an order given by Vorenus' captain voice.

He never could.

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A/N;

who could? lol. So Pullo's safe, Maybe not as happy as he would like, but safe. How long for? Well this is Pullo so who knows! Lol.

Anyway another chapter done, another to come. Hope you enjoyed this and look forward to the next. Let me know if you did or do

Come on You all know where the review button is by now, and if ya don't, its down there, yes down, left a bit, a bit more… there. You got it. ;op

T.C.U Pp xxx


	4. Questions & Answers

A/n: Good Morning people, 'another chapter?' I here you cry 'about time!' grumble grumble. What can I say I'm sowwy! Thank you for being so patient. I Haven't been too well of late neither has my computer, but enough of excuse you don't care about. ;)

Onwards…

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**To keep a Secret-  
Chapter Four**

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Standing silently in the sand, Vorenus looked up to the sun that was beginning to fall, and although he knew the temperature was falling with it he could not feel the change.

He felt as if his body was on fire. The time he had taken to dress did nothing to calm his blood, and he desperately needed to release the tension in his veins, one way or another. Taking a deep breath he pushed through the heavy door in front of him.

Set in the deep stone of the outer wall of the palace, the small room was one of the few Cleopatra had allowed them to use – mainly, Vorenus suspected, because it served her own purpose, as having been built purely for the task, it kept the noise of the screaming prisoners well and truly muffled.

"Report!" he demanded of the guard standing just inside the doorway. Vorenus had assigned him to oversee the delicate task of extracting as much information as he could out of the captured enemy soldier.

Jumping to his feet as the door opened and spilled fresh air into the stale room, the guard blinked against the light. "Still not talking, sir. He's had no water for two days."

Vorenus' eyes wandered to the weapons on the wall. "Leave!" he snapped suddenly.

"Sir?"

"Leave now!" he growled. This had gone on long enough. He obviously couldn't rely on someone else to the do the job, so he would do it himself. He needed to include something positive in his report to Caesar, so maybe he could make it this.

The door slammed shut behind the exiting guard, and the room fell to being lit by the single candle on the guard's desk.

The large Nubian from Ptolemy's loyal guard, who was strapped to the wall, hissed and spat at the Roman as he stepped silently to the weapons. Ignoring him, Vorenus merely reached for the thick leather braided whip.

III

Walking across the cooling sand, Pullo approached the gate. His arm ached just a little, the stitch having hurt more than getting the wound in the first place.

But even that pain could not diminish the frustration that flowed through his veins. It was something he would have to take care of himself before the night was out, as there was no way he could go into battle like this. He would be as distracted as Vorenus had been today.

At that realisation, he paused briefly on the idea that he was the reason for Vorenus' distraction. But he shook the thought away. He knew Vorenus was better than that; he didn't let personal things interfere with his work. It must just have been the tiredness, as he had surmised earlier. Well at least he had helped him if not rest, then at least pause for a little while earlier. That thought started his feet again and he headed towards Servius, who he could see sitting in the sand.

"Go!" he shouted as he approached the man who no longer held rank over him. "I'll take over."

Servius scrambled to his feet. He knew he should be grateful, he knew he should say something to Pullo, but all he could see in front of him instead of a brother was the reason for his demotion. Barely hiding a sneer, he pushed past him silently and headed towards the camp.

"No problem!" Pullo called after him bitterly, his temper flaring briefly at the mans open hostility.

Eventually, as Servius drifted from sight, Pullo turned back to the gate and rolled his eyes.

He truly hated sentry duty.

III

As the thin whip, which he had now changed to, stripped the already scarred skin from the Nubian's back, Vorenus' arm began to ache and his mind wander.

No longer in the dark torture room, Vorenus stood under a greying afternoon sky in Gaul, remembering another whipping he had ordered while serving under Caesar. But that man had been a Roman, his punishment for insolence to his commander. The corner of Vorenus' mouth twitched as he remembered the sight of a younger Titus Pullo, standing naked from the waist up and bound by the hand to a cart, while he took his punishment. The muscles in his shoulders and neck had twitched with every stroke of the lash, but not a sound was heard from his lips – apart from the defiant comments when it was done.

Something about him during those moments had caught Vorenus' attention. Hatred for Pullo's insolent attitude and disrespect of everything he stood for had gnawed at Vorenus all that night, and would not allow him to forget the soldier. So when the very next day Mark Antony had assigned him an almost impossible mission, one that was certain to end in failure and dishonour, if not death, Vorenus had thought of no other man to accompany him.

With a growl Vorenus threw the whip down and kicked out at the table, sending the lone candle in a shower of hot wax to the floor. This wasn't helping. Normally when things got too much emersing himself in his work was the first thing that did, but the guard wasn't talking. The soldier's and experts he had sent to him before had been right about his resolve.

Taking a deep breath he reined in the frustration that had been distracting him, even during battle for the last week, snapped out of his memories and looked towards the nubian.

The sight that greated him took him by surprise, he had been so distracted he'd barly noticed the force of his actions and now the devestating results of them shocked him. Turning to the door he felt his anger rise once more, the heat of it this time aimed at himself.

The guard he had ordered out of the prisoner's cell wasn't far away, and listened intently as he commanded him to treat and dress the slave's wounds, and finally feed him.

The realisation, prompted by the ever darkening sky, that he should have been at Caesar's side long ago didn't stop Vorenus from subconsciously taking the long route to the palace, which allowed him to bypass the main gate altogether. He did not need the added distraction of seeing Pullo right now.

Finally stepping inside the large palace, which he had spent all of today and indeed the last few months protecting, Vorenus raised his now aching arm and wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his brow.

Barely even looking at the carved statues and painted slaves, he took a familiar path through the maze of corridors, and soon found himself in the large audience chamber, confronted by a not unfamiliar scene.

Upon an ornate golden throne, its position on a raised plinth signifying her importance, sat the queen. The girl who had once offered Vorenus everything of herself was now swollen with a child, and untouchable by any man but the one at her side.

"Vorenus," Caesar greeted, removing his hand from his queen's distended belly, and turned his attention to the soldier. "You have a report for me?"

Having saluted as he entered the room, Vorenus now nodded his head. "I do."

Gathering his sun-bleached cloak, Caesar got to his feet. "Walk with me," he instructed.

Sparing a glance at the queen as he fell instep with his commander, Vorenus noticed she seemed completely uninterested in the conversation. With her eyes adverted, she carried on her own conversation with Charmian, her personal slave. Ever since finding them in the desert, Vorenus wasn't sure he had ever seen them apart.

As they exited the hall and entered yet another corridor, Posca joined them. Acknowledging him with the smallest incline of his head, Vorenus waited for Caesar to begin.

"Did we lose many today?" the consul asked eventually.

"Some." Vorenus' answer was deliberately vague; until he retrieved the bodies, he was unable willing to commit to a figure. "More through injuries before the day is out sir. But we still held. The messenger escaped unnoticed."

Caesar took all the information in. "How long can we hold for?"

Vorenus paused. "Months," he admitted eventually. "We can clear enough everyday to get supplies through if we need, but..."

Caesar paused, and turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"The losses could be high," Vorenus answered truthfully.

Caesar raised his eyebrows. "And you're wondering if it's worth it?"

Vorenus opened his mouth to reply, then paused. That was a loaded question, and he knew it.

"Speak freely," Caesar urged, seeing his man's hesitation.

"I…" Vorenus still struggled. "There are questions being whispered," he admitted. "The men are hungry."

"Then we shall get them more food."

Vorenus resisted rolling his eyes. If only it was that easy. More food would require more encounters like today, and the loss of even more men. "They miss home," he added. That problem was not as easily solvable. "They are losing heart, they do not understand why we are still here, fighting a fight that isn't ours."

Caesar nodded, listening to every word. "Do you understand?" he questioned immediately as Vorenus finished.

Vorenus paused. It was a difficult question for him; the hard trained soldier in him had no reason for understanding. Their current orders were to protect the palace from Ptolemy's attacks, and that is what he would do with his last breath. The Camp prefect he now was, however, knew the questions were being asked, and knew he needed answers for them.

Caesar turned away, taking his silence as an answer. "Follow me," he commanded.

III

Cleopatra sat up and turned to look the moment the men were out of her sight.

"Why is he here?" she snapped at her slave. "Why him again?"

"Shhh," Charmian soothed, by now used to the queen's objections to Vorenus, and her ever increasing rules to keep him at a distance. "It's just a report. He's nothing to you."

"He knows!"

"He knows nothing," she repeated softly. Trying to calm the girl, she reached out to stroke her head. "He can't hurt the great queen Isis."

Cleopatra shook her head and the woman's hand away. She didn't care what the slave said, he was dangerous and she would have to do something. She couldn't stand seeing him all the time. The other soldiers were bad enough cluttering up her grounds, but _him_… he who had disobeyed her, who met her gaze with a challenge shinning in his eyes every time, rather than lowering it in fear, as he should.

Who knew what words he was persuading Caesar with? The consul already left her bed every night to sit surrounded by his own soldiers, fearful and untrusting of her own. What if Vorenus persuaded him to leave before the baby was born, before Caesar recognised the child as his, before everything she had worked for came to fruition?

She shook her head so hard the rattling of the beads in her wig echoed around the room, and her hands gripped the arms of the throne. She would not lose her throne because of a single soldier, she would not!

Sliding from her seat she moved towards the door with a renewed determination etched on her face. But just then she was forced to gasp for a breath as a cramp ruptured across her back.

Rushing forward, Charmian caught her arms. "Gently, my queen," she whispered. "Remember, gently."

III

Stepping inside an elaborate arched doorway, its ornate door hanging open almost as though it were waiting for them, Caesar finally stopped. His decision about how much to explain himself to this soldier was made. The aristocrat in him contended that it should be nothing; the men should do as he said because he said it. But the child he had once been, living on the edge of the subura, watching from the shadows as the families of men going to war made sacrifices for their safe return, wished to respect that.

"This, Vorenus, is just part of the queen's personal collection," Caesar explained and waved at a virtual river of silken cloth and glittering jewels, which poured over each item of furniture in the room.

Vorenus' face remained stoic. He was not easily impressed by pretty stones and dresses, unless they were draped on his attractive wife.

Stepping forward, Caesar picked up the golden chain of a necklace. Hanging from the braided gold, a gold disk housed a large, many-faceted oval stone. Its deep purple colour was almost black in the fading light. While the tiny crafted beads of gold that surrounded it, polished to such brightness they reflected the flickering torch light, seemed almost to jump in time with the flames.

"This alone," Caesar spoke, his voice soft, "could feed your family for the rest of your days."

Vorenus eyed the item suspiciously. "Why are you showing me?" he questioned.

Caesar smiled, and casually threw the necklace back on top of a low table by the door. It was the right question. "Egypt has wealth Vorenus. Not just gold and pretty jewels, but grain. Egypt's grain feeds Roman families. It's how it has always been and how it must stay. If Egypt is in turmoil, Rome doesn't eat." Caesar thought briefly back to Gaul. "It's not enough to win the freedom of Rome, Vorenus, we must feed the people too, ensure there is calmness on all boarders, find stability."

Caesar paused and looked to the soldier, studying his stony face to gauge the effect of his speech.

Vorenus nodded. He could not fault the logic of Caesar's explanation, and he appreciated him giving it, despite being sceptical of it as an explanation of why they were still there. "We fight for Rome," he summarised.

"We fight for Rome, and nothing else," Caesar confirmed.

"The men will hear that," Vorenus promised, knowing that the simple line would satisfy many, for now anyway.

"Then I shall tell them." Caesar smiled, pleased as he headed towards the door. "But for now, nothing else can change."

Vorenus saluted the man's exit, and waited for Posca to reach his side as he turned from the now closed door.

"Are things really bad?" the scribe asked as he reached him.

Vorenus bit his lip to halt the hasty answer that jumped into his throat. "I've seen worse," he spoke evenly.

Posca nodded. The man in front of him might indeed have seen worse, but considering what he must have been through as a soldier, that wasn't very reassuring. "Come then," he spoke, hurrying them both away from the large treasure chamber, "tonight lets count the living rather than the dead."

Vorenus sighed and followed. He knew, however you added it up the numbers would be the same.

III

Finding Cleopatra not to be where he'd left her, Caesar finally arrived at her bed chamber. "My queen?" he called. "Charmian tells me you are not…"

"I do not like him!" Cleopatra fumed from the edge of her bed, interrupting her lover as Caesar's face appeared in the door way.

Caesar looked to her as he moved into the room. "Vorenus?" he questioned eventually, confused by her attack.

"Yes, that man. Why wont you send him away?" Her voice grew little, her eyes wide and innocent she looked up to her roman consort. "And the other."

"Vorenus is the best I have at the moment," Caesar explained slowly "You would have me leave you undefended?"

Cleo bit her lip as she thought about what she was saying. She could not act this openly without raising Caesar's suspicion, she knew that, so why had she blurted it out now? She looked down to her stomach. The more it grew the less she could keep herself controlled, and she hated it.

"What has he done?" Caesar questioned as he joined her on the bed, concerned that she had not answered. "Did he not treat you well?" he continued to push. "I shall hang his head from your door, if he did not."

Cleopatra's eyes lit up. She would rest easier at that sight, and even more so at the sight of his deputy's, but she could not risk it. The threat of imminent execution might loosen his tongue, and the tale he could tell reach friendly ears. She still did not know Caesar well enough to judge how he would react to even the smallest doubt about her baby's paternity.

"He treated me well," she admitted, and even allowed a small smile to creep on her lips, as a heat squirmed down from her belly at the memory of Pullo's masterful ministrations. "They both did."

"Then why…?" Caesar was silenced as small arms slipped around his neck, and her bump pressed against his side.

"I'm just being silly," she whispered, her lips tickling against his ear. "I get scared."

Caesar turned his head. "But I have you," he whispered his own lips now moving against hers. "No one can ever hurt you, my queen."

Cleopatra prayed to every god she could summon to mind that it would be true, and just in case they weren't listening, she nodded just slightly at the questioning eyes of her servant. If she could not act openly she would take other options. Turning her attention back to Caesar, and catching his lips with her own, she made him forget she had even said anything.

III

Pullo shivered in the night. He was bored – no, he shook his head. He had passed boredom sometime back. With a sigh he stared out from the large gate once more and now had to squint to make out the view in the ever-growing darkness. Although the majority of the enemy had now disbanded for the night, the view was no more pleasing now that he could see exactly how many of his brothers lay slain on the battlefield.

He stifled a yawn. Where was Vorenus anyway? And why hadn't he come back to retrieve the bodies yet? His report didn't normally take this long.

Pullo was hungry and he wanted to get back to camp before everyone finished all the food. There was barely enough to go around at the best of times, never mind if you were late.

He looked at the bodies again and a thought occurred to him; he could retrieve them himself. It wouldn't take him long, and if he did he would have the chance at getting something hot inside him before the night was out. It would also be one less thing on the long list Vorenus would have to do.

Turning back he looked at the camp and then to the palace; still no sign of Vorenus, or anyone for that matter. Even the lookouts, perched high on the palace walls, dozed softly, out of sight, making the most of the quiet.

Quickly, before he could have a second thought, he reached for the large bolt of the gate.

* * *

A/N; Sigh now what did I say about Pullo and trouble, last time, the boy cant help himself.

Thanks you so much for all your lovely reviews, I know I haven't done a shout out for a while, but please be assured I love and cherish every single one. So please keep 'em coming, they make me write faster and better.

Take Care, TNT PP xx


	5. Temptations

A/n: FINALLY! I know I know its been a while, but its _here_, and hopefully it's a good one.

Thank you for all your reviews, your guys are what keeps me coming back to this so: Spot-of-bother, UnicornTKD, jacktheshipper, minty, Anya, Mirna, clara, Montmorency, dahlia and Anja 25, this chapter is for you. Special mention this chapter however goes to FujikoMine whose last reviews just a few days ago, prompted me to finally get in gear and post. (Sorry if I missed anyone but you're all amazing and I am more grateful for you review's than I can ever say.)

Love always to my ever patient beta xxx

So onwards…

* * *

**To keep a Secret-  
Chapter Five  
**

* * *

Standing behind Posca, Vorenus rolled his eyes. He had no time for reports and figures; he had other things to do.

Looking into the distance, he watched as the smouldering pyre at the edge of the camp sent its bitter-sweet smelling smoke into the night sky. It reminded him that the least of his tasks was to retrieve today's fallen, and set that dying fire ablaze once more. He also had to relieve Pullo, find someone to replace him, work out who was well enough to fight tomorrow, reorganise the tents to evenly distribute the remaining men, check on the provisions…

The list seemed endless, but he knew that even once everything on it had been done, he would have to sit watching over Caesar until almost dawn – just as he did every other night, at the paranoid consul's request. Caesar insisted on spending his nights in the camp rather than the queen's bed, feeling safe only with his own men around him.

Not for the first time since attaining it, Vorenus cursed the responsibilities of his new rank. But even as he did, he knew he was betraying his heart, which swelled just a little every time someone called him prefectus.

It was the role his entire army career had built towards, and given the choice to give it all up, hand over those thankless tasks that kept him up most of the night, he would never take it.

He thought of his wife. She would be so proud of him. His title didn't only mean something in camp, but when they got home too. He, and subsequently his family, would earn great respect. If nothing else she would appreciate the pay rise; more money to spend on frivolous junk would put a long-missing smile on her face, and hopefully help them find time for more lie-ins, he mused with a grin.

"You have no time for numbers, my friend?" Posca questioned, pulling the yawning commander's attention back to him.

Vorenus opened his mouth to defend himself, but Posca had already looked back to his tablet. "Go, go," the slave urged. "The count is no different whether you are here or not."

Vorenus didn't have to be told twice. Turning, he quickly began to weave his way back to more important matters.

III

Sneaking through the camp, Charmian was forced to slip back into shadows as she saw Vorenus approaching. As much as she may deny it to her queen, he was a dangerous man for all of them, and the sooner things were sorted the better.

She had been protecting the queen since she was a babe in arms, and just because she was preparing to give birth to her own child, it didn't change a thing. She would give her life for her, if it came to that. Of course if she could stop it coming to that, she would.

Letting out a held breath only once her enemy had passed, she turned, only to find herself in the grip of a different roman soldier.

"Well, well." Servius grinned through the dark, as the older woman lowered her head subserviently. "What do we have here?"

Walking through the camp, his stomach still growling in protest at the meagre scraps he had managed to feed it, Servius had detected the quick movement of the woman darting into the shadows as his commander passed.

Intrigue replaced the hunger in his stomach, as he recognised someone hoping to avoid that bastard Vorenus' attention. Unable to stop himself, he slid around the back of the tent to find the woman.

"Don't hurt me," Charmian begged immediately. "I was just looking for some… food."

Servius let go of the woman, his lip curling in disgust. "Don't lie to me; you eat better than we do. The whole damn palace does."

Charmian finally looked up and saw the bitterness etched on the young soldier's face. It was true that the queen's treatment of the men who defended her very life was less than generous, and that included their food rations.

"Why were you avoiding our wonderful leader?" Servius pushed again, his voice dripping sarcasm. "And who was that for?" he asked, pointing at the goblet that now lay in the sand, having fallen from her hands as he surprised her.

"Tell me," Chamian ignored his question, desperate to pull his attention away from the now empty chalice. "Do Roman men really hold honour above all things? I had always thought gold carried a higher value."

Servius looked closer at the woman. It was obvious that she was testing him, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Whatever she was up to, the fact that she didn't want Vorenus to know about it made him even more eager to find out.

"You could be right." He smiled cautiously, but intrigued none the less. "After all, gold can always buy honour."

Opening the small bag that hung around her neck, she showed the contents to the soldier. "Perhaps we can talk?" she suggested, her quick mind working to adapt her plan, especially now what remained of it was seeping into the sand around her feet.

Servius nodded, and taking her arm he led her away from the tents to where they were less likely to be overheard.

III

Leaving his tent, Vorenus rolled his shoulders in relief at finally shedding the heavy uniform, and headed towards the gate. The grain was counted, the men too. Posca's report was in his tent. He could avoid it no longer; he had to check on his Optio.

Picking his way between the fading patches of light left by the untended torches, he made his way to the gate.

The noise of clashing swords greeted him even before he reached the scene, and what he saw there wrapped his heart in ice.

The gate was open, and where he had expected to see his friend standing, a pile of bodies lay instead. Panic gripped him as his eyes were drawn by the familiar sounds of a skirmish, and the even more familiar sound of Pullo bellowing at the centre of it. Ripping his short sword from his hip, Vorenus ran through the gate and wadded in among the men that surrounded his friend.

III

"I want both."

"No." Servius shook his head. "I can't. Both, is just not possible."

Charmian was insistent "It has to be both."

Servius fingered the gold chain in his hand, and thought of the opportunity before him, and weighed them against the stories he had heard of the past.

"If it's payment…" Charmian noticed the way his hand moved. "Then perhaps a further deal?"

"It's too dangerous, I promise you," he finally spoke, sense overcoming his greed. "One: fine. Either one. The other: later maybe. But together? That's just foolish."

Charmian sighed. Perhaps he was right, both might seem suspicious. She could always get rid of one at a later date if need demanded. One should be enough to calm her queen. Besides, she hardly had time for this haggling.

"Ok," she nodded. "One, before the sun rises, at the west gate."

Impatient to be gone, she was already looking over her shoulder, planning her way to the cells as her mind moved to her next task; Ptolemy's men. She knew they would be harder to win over than the weak Roman in front of her, but perhaps their lives and the wealth of gold she still carried would just be enough to buy their loyalty.

"Isis trusts in you. You break this vow, and she will make your remaining days a misery in this world, and Osiris will make sure you never rest in the after," she warned quickly before making her exit.

Servius rolled his eyes. The Egyptian gods didn't scare him, but he would not break this alliance; it served his own purpose. He looked down to the large jewel in his hand. The payment, although generous, was not what caused the smile to slide onto his face.

He was going to enjoy this.

III

Pullo had only meant to retrieve the few Roman bodies nearest the gate. Respect of the dead was as important to the Egyptians as it was to the Romans, and for the past few months they had observed an uneasy truce enabling both sides to recover their fallen after battle. Tonight, however, it seemed the sight a lone Roman had proved a temptation too great for the Egyptian soldiers collecting their own dead, and now they were looking to add another to Vorenus' casualty list.

Hearing the commotion of another sword joining the battle, Pullo thought the worst, and conceded that this might just have been a bad idea.

Spinning as he raised his arm to strike, determined to at least take out the latecomer, Pullo found his sword parried by that of the only person he would never willingly hurt.

"Vorenus," the name slipped from his lips as he paused, momentarily forgetting those around him.

Without warning, a sprinkling of arrows hit the sand just beyond their enemies; a warning shot. Whether the sound of battle was finally loud enough to catch their attention, or simply the whispered name of their commander awoke a deep sense of duty, it seemed the Roman lookouts were finally waking up.

"Come on," Vorenus grunted, taking full advantage of the distraction to grip Pullo's shirt and almost throw him back through the gate.

As soon as they were both through they turned and fought to close the gate, then took a moment to rest against it once it was back in place.

Looking to the man panting next to him, Vorenus noticed that the stitch he had ordered him to get had already split, and was bleeding freely through his thin shirt. At least three fresher wounds were evident too, not least the deep gash on his tight stomach visible through the slashed material.

"You took your time," Pullo rasped a joke as he looked up from the sand, only to find the eyes staring back at him darkened with something he couldn't recognise. "Vorenus?"

With the smell of blood and sweat in his nose, Vorenus couldn't distinguish the words from the deafening drumming of his heartbeat echoing so loud in his head. It felt as if every muscle in his body twitched in time with it. No longer in control of himself he pounced forward, grabbed his legionary once more and forced him back until shadow covered them both in the corner of the gate recess. Not pausing for a second thought, Vorenus finally gave in wholly to the need that kept him awake at night, and the denying of which kept his temper constantly at boiling point, and kissed him.

The confusion in Pullo's eyes quickly died as the bruising kiss explained Vorenus' action. Not caring what had prompted Vorenus' uncharacteristic show of emotion, Pullo responded eagerly with his own denied passion.

For a delicious moment, they were lost in the taste if each other, their lips burning as each tried to convey all their feelings for one another.

Finally with the noise of approaching sandals in the sand growing louder in his head, Vorenus tore himself away and gasped for air.

"What do you think you were doing?" he rasped accusingly, his mind racing to find normality.

"Captain."

The Centurion in command of the lookouts forced himself not to shake, as he watched Vorenus let go of the legionary he had pinned to the wall in angry reprimand, and turn slowly towards him. The Centurion's face flushed when Vorenus' angry eyes were finally on him, and unlike the men behind him, he forgot to salute.

"You!" Vorenus roared. His anger at being interrupted was almost as strong as that at the incompetence of the lookouts. "If this gate opens, I want to know about it. If it creaks a little to loudly, I want to know about it. And if I don't know about it, I will nail you to the outside so you can see with your own eyes when our enemy approaches!"

Pullo watched in frustration, shifting from one foot to the other as Vorenus continued to berate the centurion in front of him. Forcing his hands into fists, he resisted the urge to touch a finger to his throbbing lips, unable to forget Vorenus' assault on them.

"Get out of here!" Vorenus snapped eventually. "And take the bodies with you." He pointed at the pile of men Pullo had managed to retrieve before he'd run into trouble.

"Do… do you need a doctor?" Despite having just been ripped to shreds in front of his own men by his commander, the Centurion had to ask as he noticed the blood-red streak across Vorenus' shirt.

Looking down, Vorenus' jaw tightened as he realised what the centurion referred to, and just how he had got the mark. He had to stop himself from saying it was not his blood. "Just leave," he insisted through gritted teeth, as the memory of feeling Pullo's body pushed against his flooded his mind.

Watching as the Centurion and all his men rushed to comply with the order, Pullo shifted in the shadows, impatient for Vorenus' attention again.

"And you Pullo," Vorenus added as the men began to disappear from sight. "Get out of my sight," he snapped irritably, his voice hard with the cold tone of a commanding officer. "Get stitched again, and find _your_ tent tonight," he ordered, moving to step away without looking back.

Pullo was stunned at the command. Although as a legionary he had a bed in one of the many tents in the barracks, since returning from finding the queen, and Vorenus' subsequent promotion, he hadn't used it once. He preferred to spend his nights closer to the man in front of him, curled in a pile of sheets that created a makeshift bed in the corner of his now luxurious tent.

Vorenus for his part had never questioned it, expecting little else from his closest friend but to stay nearby.

"But…?"

Vorenus stopped but still he didn't turn. "But nothing. We're done. Leave."

"No," Pullo's stubbornness kicked in. He wasn't prepared to let this go, he couldn't; everything he wanted was within reaching distance.

Finally Vorenus turned. "Do not forget who I am," he snapped.

Pullo simply raised his eyebrows. He could never forget the man in front of him, and they both knew it. Finally able to search those blue eyes once more, he stepped forward.

"I could have you locked up for deserting your post," Vorenus rambled a dressing-down almost from habit, and Pullo took another step closer. "For disobeying me." Vorenus tried to force himself to concentrate. The temptation to return to Pullo and that dark corner was so strong his body was already tiring from fighting it. "For leaving the palace. I …"

Pullo wasn't listening. His eyes were watching Vorenus' mouth form the words, but they never entered his consciousness. Looking up again he found Vorenus' eyes dark with what he now knew was his desire.

"I could have…

The sight was enough to force Pullo to act. His head swimming with lust, and the overriding need to not let their encounter be over yet, his hands found Vorenus, pulled him close and silenced him with his own ferocious kiss.

Unable to hide his passion for a second, he didn't care as he felt Vorenus' hands dig into his cloth shirt as he fought against him. The harder Vorenus pushed him away the tighter he held. With the adrenalin and lust pumping though his veins he could not let go even if he wanted to, as he desperately tried to deepen the kiss.

With his heart racing, harder than any fight had ever caused, Vorenus couldn't defy his own need. Giving in once more, he was soon fighting to get closer. His hands gripped tighter and tighter in Pullo's clothes, pushing them both hard back against the wall and each other.

A groan escaped Pullo's lips. He had waited so long for this, and as far as they had gone in the past, Vorenus had never shown this kind of passion for him, never even kissed him before tonight.

The noise was too much for Vorenus and he felt his own moan welling in his throat in response.

"No..." He now used his lover's grip on Pullo, and every ounce of self-control he owned, to push himself away. He couldn't do this, this was illegal.

Stumbling away in the sand, he held his hand up as Pullo stepped towards him.

"No!" he repeated. "Don't touch me!"

Dazed and shocked by the sudden loss of contact, Pullo was confused. "But you.."

"I don't want this," Vorenus lied boldly, trying to convince himself.

"You wanted this in the dessert," Pullo answered, his mouth working before his brain.

"No!" Vorenus forced anger into his voice, trying to warn Pullo not to continue with this.

"You needed this in Rome," Pullo hissed. A flare of anger sparked with a sudden overriding need for Vorenus to admit this. "You needed me," he pushed further.

Vorenus' chest heaved as his feigned anger became real, and raged at the man bringing up what he struggled to forget. "No more than any other willing man," he lied quickly, desperate to distance himself from any meaning in their past encounters.

Pullo's eyes flashed in anger, and before he even realised his hand had clenched in a fist, he swung it in Vorenus' direction.

With the distance still between them, Vorenus had plenty of time to see it coming and avoid it. Gripping the legionary's bicep as it passed him, Vorenus spun him around, and shoved him face first back against the wall they had just left.

Hitting the sandstone with such force, Pullo had to gasp for a breath, as all he had in his lungs left at speed.

Holding him against the wall with the weight of his own body, Vorenus used one of his feet to part Pullo's legs and hold him off balance, at the same time as reaffirming his grip now on the man's wrists.

"Other?" Pullo demanded as he struggled in Vorenus grip. With the irrational jealousy raging through him, he failed to appreciate the feel of Vorenus' hard thigh between his own. "Which other!"

Vorenus suppressed a shiver that Pullo's jealousy sent down his spine. "You think yourself unique?" he questioned, leaning close so his words echoed in Pullo's head, and his body pushed hard against him. "You think if I asked I couldn't have a dozen different men in my tent tonight?" As much as he disliked the idea, Vorenus knew the suggestion of it would have the desired effect on Pullo.

Pullo growled like a wounded lion in response, and fought Vorenus' grip even harder. "Who?" he demanded again. Just because he himself had had others in the past, the idea that Vorenus might irritated his soul.

Vorenus failed to fight back that moan that had threatened him earlier, as Pullo bucked against his groin again. "Stop." he tried to order, his voice weaker than he could stand.

The tone of his captor finally pulled Pullo's attention from his temper to their positioning, and suddenly he became aware of the feel of Vorenus behind him. Deliberately pushing himself against Vorenus' hard body, he began to enjoy himself.

Growing more aware of their exposed position by the second, and all they risked from it, Vorenus had had enough. "What do you want from me?" he whispered, as he felt Pullo's movement turn provocative.

Pullo froze for a second. The question was loaded, and he had no idea how to explain all he felt, all he needed. To admit out loud all he wanted, would risk everything, his life included. "I want you not to let go," he answered honestly in the only way he could think of.

Vorenus' grip tightened around Pullo's wrist just for a second, as his hunger for the man flared, before he forced himself to let go altogether.

Closing his eyes, Pullo rested his head against the sandstone, as he felt the warm body move away from him. What had he just done?

"You want me dead."

The statement was cold and serious, and Pullo spun around immediately, surprised by it.

"Never."

Vorenus shook his head. This was impossible. If anyone had seen them tonight he would lose everything, and yet Pullo wanted more. This could only end in the death penalty for both of them; the fact of his rank would likely only add torture before the death.

Looking up, he met Pullo's eyes once more. He had no idea why the sight of him kick-started his heart in the way it did, why he felt lonely when he wasn't around, scared when he was in danger, or why six months after that damned drunken night in Rome, he had given in to Pullo's hands and mouth once more, during their time in the dessert, and started this constant circle of temptation and denial. No, he didn't understand any of it, but he knew only one way to react to it.

Dismayed, Pullo watched as the 'detached captain' mask fell once more over Vorenus' face, and hid that desire burning in his eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," Vorenus spoke quietly, his voice steady now, and turned away. "I wish by the gods you'd gone back to Rome."

Pullo stepped forward. He couldn't mean that, could he?

"Find your tent," Vorenus spoke as he felt the movement behind him, repeating his earlier order. "You're on duty tomorrow, and if you disobey me again…" He paused.

"I will find the lash for your back myself."

Pullo watched as his shoulders set and he began to walk away, no doubt to other duties, and his thoughts turned bitter. Had he read it so wrong, was he nothing but a whore for Vorenus? Him and god knows how many others? Did he care so little for him, he wished he wasn't even there? Where they not even friends?

A sneer spread across Pullo's face. He was no one's whore. Angrily, he began in the opposite direction, towards camp.

III

Standing hidden, Charmian watched as both men walked in separate directions.

She had been standing there for some time. Ptolemy's men had proven to be a lot more easily swayed than she had expected, especially their leader, who's latest vicious beating had only fomented his hatred against the Romans rather than Cleopatra herself.

Smiling, she saw Servius finally appear in the distance. All was going to plan. The queen would sleep soundly tonight.

"Pullo!" Servius greeted the fellow legionary for the first time since Greece, loudly and with false warmth "Do you...?"

With no indication he had even seen him, Pullo continued on his path, his hard shoulder knocking Servius to the side.

"Fuc…" Servius began to swear, as he fought to keep his balance. "Fine." he eventually hissed through his now gritted teeth, as another shadow in the distance caught his attention. With out delay he started towards it.

"Sir, camp prefect sir, can we speak?"

* * *

A/n: So another chapter done, hope you still liked it, our boys are getting a little too hot for themselves to handle, and who knows what Servius is up to, hands up who gets the feeling its not good? hehe

Next chapter semi-written, hopefully it won't be as long a wait as for this one, but no promises ;p

T.C.U all, and don't forget virtual cookies for all who review, I bake them myself, guaranteed to make you feel warm inside.

xxPPxx


	6. Ramifications

**To keep a secret-  
Chapter Six**

* * *

Cleopatra rolled over, hoping to feel the warm body of her lover next to her, and found nothing but the cold sheet instead.

"Where are you?" she demanded, sitting up immediately.

From the shadows, Caesar looked up in the middle of dressing. "The night is here," he answered succinctly.

"NO NO NO!" Cleopatra shook her head like a spoiled child being told no for the first time. "You cannot go!"

"Shhh," Caesar soothed. He had been through this performance more than once. "You know I am safest with my soldiers."

Coiling herself in the sheets of the bed, Cleopatra bid him closer. "You can at least say goodbye."

Caesar smiled as he watched her young body slide around the bed. Goodbye was the last thing he was thinking of right now, as was sleep. Slowly he walked to the edge of the bed. "They will be waiting for me."

Kneeling on the bed now, Cleopatra threw her arms around him. "Then let them wait," she ordered, and dragged him back down.

III

Hungry and with his temper still raging Pullo reluctantly found his tent as Vorenus had ordered, and his bed; or at least the space where his bed should have been. So used to him not being there the rest of his the men in his tent had taken advantage of the extra space, and piled their belongings there. With a soft growl and a few choice swear words below his breath, Pullo began kicking at the bags to reclaim his space.

Lying down with a sigh, he couldn't help remembering Vorenus' hateful words._ You think if I asked I couldn't have a dozen different men in my tent tonight?_ The question burned through Pullo's body so searingly, he couldn't help but scan the tent to make sure all his fellow soldiers were accounted for.

With the numbers counted, reassuring him that at least none of these men would be with his captain tonight, Pullo closed his eyes. But as the argument played over and over again in his mind, he knew sleep would be hard to find.

III

As the moon slipped over the apex of the night sky, Charmian crept along the corridor towards the queen's bedroom. Her task had been successful, and she knew the queen would welcome the news. As she turned the last corner, she was surprised to see a fellow slave still standing by the door she needed, until she realised this only meant the queen had succeeded in getting the Consul to spend the night with her, against his better judgement

Stepping gently she thought she had escaped the dozing Roman slave's notice, until his hushed voiced stopped her in her tracks.

"What's going on?"

Her hand on the door handle, she reluctantly turned. "I wish to see the queen," she said softly, loath to disturb the peace of the almost eerily quiet temple compound.

"Caesar still sleeps?" It was part statement and part question on Posca's part. "I shall come with you. It is time for him to leave."

"You will not!" Charmian snapped her response, before quickly covering it with a smile. "The queen's chamber is sacred, I will send him out."

III

From inside the room, Cleopatra had heard the initial creak of the door as Charmian approached, and now she waited impatiently for her faithful slave to appear. When she didn't after a moment Cleopatra began to worry. Reaching over she lifted the heavy arm that rested in the valley between her swollen breasts and belly, and slid from Caesar's embrace.

Swinging her legs from the bed, her feet hit the cold floor just as Charmian finally slid through the door. "News?" she demanded, as the woman approached and gathered up an earlier discarded gown from the floor.

"It is done." Draping the garment around the queen's bare shoulders, Charmian smiled as they visibly relaxed beneath the soft fabric.

III

Refusing to listen to the argument replaying in his head one more time, Pullo pushed it away with a happier memory of when Vorenus had needed him. As his lips curved in a smile, sleep finally took him.

_With the stars above him, and the cold breeze whipping around him, Pullo paused outside their small tent. His heart was in his mouth and guilt tugging at his stomach. He had enjoyed the encounter with the would-be queen, more than he liked to admit, but he didn't know what that meant for the man in the tent. An irrational guilt washed over him as he pausing to spare a look to the dying fire nearby. Strengthening his will he finally pushed his way through the canvass. _

_Vorenus' bare back greeted him without a single movement to betray he was still awake. Pausing, Pullo didn't know what to do. "Phrewww," he breathed out heavily, hoping just his presence would force some reaction from the man._

_When none came, he silently sank to his knees on his own bed with the knowledge that this was going to take some effort to make right. Looking over, he stared at Vorenus' back, and noticed the muscles tightly held there. So much for him being asleep. The sight finally helped Pullo find his voice._

_"God's, that was-" _

_"I don't want to know." Vorenus' voice, tight with a hint of anger, cut him off._

_Pullo frowned distractedly as Vorenus lectured him on the orders he had just carried out. He couldn't bear the thought of this coming between them. Once Vorenus was finished, Pullo watched him fuss with his bed, apparently seeking comfort. "_Why didn't you sleep with her yourself?'_ he asked, the only question he could think of. He couldn't understand how his friend could turn down such a willing body, and indeed defy orders to do so. _

_Vorenus stayed silent for a long time, his eyes shut tight, and Pullo felt his jealousy rising suddenly not so sure of his presumption that Vorenus hadn't._

_"I have a wife," Vorenus finally managed to whisper, his voice tight and controlled. "I do not intend on sullying that."_

_With relief tempering that jealousy, Pullo wondered, as he did at least once a day, whether his friend would be so loyal if he truly knew his wife's secrets. _

_"You are too loyal," his whispered, wishing he could tell him, and reached his hand out to touch his friend's back._

_Pullo watched as his friend swallowed hard, his mere touch obviously having an effect on the man even on this cold night. "I made a vow, I intend on keeping it," he croaked out eventually. _

_"So you deny yourself?" Pullo asked, his touch becoming more deliberate now, as his fingers stroked along the muscular back below them. A strange feeling of guilt from enjoying himself was leading him down old paths._

_"Pullo." Vorenus' voice was a mixture of warning and lust as he felt his best friend's hand skim across his hip and move towards his lap. They had been here once before, and he thought they had an understanding. _

_"Sir." Pullo moved closer, his breath now hot on Vorenus' neck, and he felt himself grow with excitement for the second time that night when a mere five minutes ago he would have thought himself satisfied for at least a month. _

_Pullo had probably had a dozen men over the years he had been in the army; discreetly of course, he was no keener to provoke the death sentence for being caught than any sane man. But in Pullo's mind there was little difference from being with a woman; a little tighter on most occasions - especially considering the slack whores Pullo normally found himself with, when he did have enough coin to buy - but that just made it all the more enjoyable._

_Vorenus was different, he knew that, and even as he pushed himself against Vorenus' buttocks, he knew he would never get to have this man in the same way. Vorenus would never allow it. There had been only one time he could think of that it may have been possible - Vorenus had been so drunk he probably didn't even know his own name. He had lain on the ground and for the briefest of seconds Pullo had considered taking him without asking. Vorenus would not have been able to fight him off and in truth probably would not have remembered it in the morning, but he couldn't do it, he couldn't abuse his friend's trust that way. So the very next night when Vorenus had once more declined to go straight home, preferring to spend time in the nearest tavern. He had made his intentions clear, and for a few brief seconds of that second boozy night he had thought Vorenus was going to let him fulfil his dream of the last few years. But it had been short lived. Vorenus had recovered himself and stopped them before they had gone too far. _

_Now he could not help but try once more in the frantic hope that his friend was too desperate to refuse, despite the promise they had made never to speak of that first encounter again _

_Vorenus' eyes rolled back, as Pullo's fingers teasingly played over the thin blanket slung around his hips, the only thing that separated him from the elements. Still he held back, and Pullo cursed that damned self-control of his. He wanted nothing more than for him to turn and claim his mouth._

_"Pullo." His voice when it came was even tighter this time, and the soldier in Titus Pullo fought to pull away and obey. _

_"An order, sir?" he questioned, unable not to but scared of the response, knowing he would stop if he had to. _

_When no answer came immediately he took his chance and lowered his lips to the back of Vorenus' neck, and his fingers become more insistent. He so desperately didn't want to stop, he wanted Vorenus to come as hard as he just had, and he wanted to be the one that held him as he did, not least because he hated the thought of someone else doing so. _

_Pullo felt Vorenus respond to his touch, but he also felt him holding back, unable to give in fully. He didn't know why, and to be honest he didn't want to think about it, fearful that he might find a reason to his disliking. Leaning forward, he pressed the eagle he still wore on his chest closer into Vorenus' naked back. "Let me," he whispered, his voice husky as his want - no, it had gone further than that, his _need_ - grew and his hand slid under the blanket. "It will help you sleep."_

_"Ohh.." Vorenus' voice had never sounded as good as it did in that second. "Pullo..."_

III

Falling face down, Vorenus hit the sand hard and acid laughter filled his head as he tasted his own blood. Rolling, he attempted to escape the feet that crunched against his ribs, only to find more of the same. So many hands, and so many feet attacked him he couldn't even tell through how many people were above him.

"Pullo..." The name of his Optio whispered in his heart as he reached out for something, anything, to help him against his attackers. "Pullo..."

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a/n, Thanks for reading, hope you liked, the next chapter should be along soon. (really, honestly,truely)

please review, love and cookies to all who do. xx

t.c.u Pp xx


	7. Awakening

A/N:-  
Hey there, well I said soon. Ok I know most people don't think 3 weeks is soon. But it's better than three months nay?  
Thank you for re-review spot-of-bother, you do keep me going. ;) And a new reviewer Mailer. I really appreciate you taking the time to comment. I love getting reviews. heehe don't we all! xx  
Hope you enjoy this one

Onwards...

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To keep a secret  
- Chapter 7

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"Wake up, wake up."

The early morning sunshine streamed through the door he had opened, and on to the face of the sleeping figure. "Come on," Posca tried to rouse the man with his soft voice. The sun had already risen, and he had no time to waste. "Wake up." Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one would witness his action, the old slave gave a sly kick to the bed. "Will you wake up!"

Pullo's eyes opened slowly, only to clamp back shut against the sunshine assaulting them. "Mumping.." the first curse of the day flew to his lips.

"Titus Pullo, wake up!"

Opening his eyes again, warily this time, Pullo recognised a silhouette of a man standing above him. "Vorenus?" he questioned with a dry throat, unable to think of anyone else who would be kicking at his bed.

"Vorenus!" The name was repeated, and Pullo realised his mistake as the stars dancing in his eyes cleared and the face of Posca appeared above him. "Where is Prefectus Vorenus'?"

With a groan Pullo rolled over, ignoring the tight pull across his stomach from last night's wound, which he had never got round to getting stitched. "Who knows."

Posca let out a sigh of annoyance. He wasn't stupid, he knew Pullo was his best chance of finding Vorenus. "Not with Caesar," he added trying to prompt the legionary into action, and paused for a response that did not come. "Not with you, not in his tent."

Pullo managed to stare silently at the side of the tent for a full heartbeat before all his fears from last night forced him to turn. "What do you mean, not in his tent?"

"As I say," Posca answered immediately, used to being questioned, "his tent is empty, he never collected Caesar, and he is not with you. I can only–"

"Pluto's cock!" The vehemence – not to mention volume – of Pullo's second curse of the day instantly woke all those sleeping nearby.

Pulling the legionary outside and away from the seven other sleepy members of his contubernium, half of which just seemed bemused to see that Pullo had made use of his own bed for once, Posca gave him a second to calm down. "I have to wake Caesar," he spoke again. "He will not be happy."

Pullo shook his head, trying to get a grip on this. He could not care less about Caesar. He felt a fool. He might have counted the men in his tent, but Vorenus had easily over a hundred others to pick from, and it sounded like he had. Not only picked but stayed the night. That betrayal kicked hardest in his chest. His stoic friend could not spare him time at the gate, but he could give another a whole night?

Without even acknowledging the still talking slave, he turned away. Vorenus must have returned to his tent by now. He didn't even register the scorching temperature of the sand beneath his bare feet as he headed towards his former home. Vorenus had better have a good explanation.

III

Curled into a ball, Vorenus forced himself to take another breath as the last left his chest. His consciousness had flooded back some time ago, and he almost wished it hadn't. Unwilling to convince his aching muscles to move more than an inch or two, he instead concentrated his effort on trying to piece together what had happened.

So blinded by his anger, and excitement from his encounter with Pullo, he had not seen the trap until it was too late, and five pairs of hands were on him. In the darkness of the prison block, he had thrown one person at least before something heavy found the back of his head and a bright light exploded behind his eyes.

Shifting a little in the sand to ease his aching ribs, he realised his head still pounded from the impact of whatever that blunt object was, and from the prickly feeling of dried blood in his hair he knew it had split the skin.

Once he was on the sand his attackers had not let up, moving easily from using weapons to feet, and from the way each breath fought against him now, he knew that at least one of his ribs was broken.

Why this had all happened however, still escaped him, and his concern for what was happening back in the camp was almost as bad as the injures.

With no way of telling how long had passed in the dark cell, he was almost relieved when the sound of approaching footsteps entered his consciousness.

Now filled with the need to move, and meet who ever was coming face on, he took one last relaxed breath, and tensed his protesting muscles. Using every inch of support in the rough wall he could feel behind him, he forced himself to move, and sliding in the sand he managed to sit up. As he did for the first time, he noticed the pull of a cold metal cuff tight around one of his ankles.

III

Standing in the silent and cool tent, Pullo looked around him. His eyes moved from the full water jug he had brought in yesterday, still standing in its place now with a thin film of dust coating its surface, to the hastily discarded dress uniform lying in a heap in the corner.

Vorenus wasn't here, but still Pullo's temper didn't cool. Spinning round angrily, his eye caught on the gleaming object in the corner where he made his bed. Usually the sight of his small _Optio centurionis_ crest brought a smile to his face, remembering how proud he had been to receive it. However, in his current anger, he only remembered Vorenus confession on how he was forced to give it to him, and for the first time in years Pullo thought of Marius Quarto.

Quarto had been Vorenus' previous optio, and the first person ever to rouse Pullo's jealousy over his commander. Despite Vorenus' claim that he had never been on friendly terms with the man, Pullo had always been suspicious of Vorenus' off-hand manner towards his second in command in front of the men. If anything, it seemed almost too casual. Pullo could not believe that two men who worked so closely together could remain just indifferent acquaintances. After all, they spent enough time together in Vorenus' tent. Just as he now did. Whenever Pullo had thought about that in the past he had been consumed with hatred for Quarto, and now as he thought about it again, his jealous suspicions began to resurface.

Was Quarto still alive? Had he survived the storm? Was he in Egypt? Was that who Vorenus was with now? Pullo didn't know the answers and suddenly it was driving him mad.

The upheaval in the legion after the shipwreck meant that it was more than possible the man was back under Vorenus command, and in the camp.

Filled with the intention of searching every tent and finding either the answers or the man himself, Pullo turned towards the doorway. But as he ducked to exit the tent he was forced backwards by someone else entering it.

III

"You are awake."

The guard's voice drew Vorenus' attention from the iron shackle he was pulling at. Looking up at the new arrival, he squinted against the bright torch the man held.

The large Nubian Standing in the open doorway was as still and solid as one of the many statues littering the hallways of Cleopatra's palace.

Remembering the way he had been kicked as he lay prone on the ground last night, Vorenus hastily forced himself to stand in case he should need to defend himself.

Silently both men met each other's gaze, un-blinking and challenging.

"You will pay for this," Vorenus spoke first, a little of Pullo's impatience obviously having worn off on him.

"I already have," Taharqa answered his face barely moving. "It is your turn."

"Identify yourself!" Vorenus demanded, looking to control the interraction.

Taharqa's jaw set hard. "You do not recognise me." He nodded as he realised he should have expected nothing less from the roman. "It doesn't matter," he shrugged, and stepped so close to Vorenus the Roman could feel the heat of the torch warming his skin. "We have plenty of time."

III

"Caesar." Stepping backwards, Pullo struck his chest with his fist to salute the approaching consul, his training kicking in even through his rage.

Caesar's red-rimmed eyes narrowed as they fought to become accustom to the darkened tent. "Titus Pullo, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Vorenus, Sir."

"Looking for Vorenus," Caesar repeated. "It would seem then, we are engaged in the same task." Walking through the tent, Caesar turned and leaned back on the desk, which was piled high with reports detailing every nuisance of camp life. "So, where do we start?"

Pullo froze. Was Caesar asking him? Despite his anger at Vorenus there was no way he was going to voice his suspicion. Opening his mouth, his mind scrambled to find an answer when a noise drew their attention once again at to the door.

Pushing his way through the two guards now standing at the entrance, Posca entered the tent followed by the primus pilius and a couple of senior centurions. All except Posca saluted Caesar, and cast a surprised look Pullo's way. Although Vorenus' second, the trouble-making legionary had never been considered very important, and therefore his presence was intriguing at the very least.

Caesar stood up slowly. "News?"

"The camp has been searched," Posca started as he approached Caesar, "and Prefectus Vorenus has not been found. The Queen's guards have been questioned and he is not in the palace either."

Pullo's face paled just perceivably as his anger drifted away. Vorenus was actually missing? How could that be possible? Taking a step back, he hoped to be forgotten so he could observe their conversation. Caesar hadn't told him to go, but equally he hadn't given him permission to stay, and he desperately needed to hear what was going on.

"The last time he was seen, he was fighting with…" Posca paused and looked up. "Legionary Pullo."

As every eye in the tent turned to Pullo, Caesar only now noticed the disarray of his clothing, and the blood soaked rip across his midriff showing his wound. "True, Pullo?" he questioned, his eyes skimming the soldier's face looking for the answer.

Pullo nodded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw both the senior centurions tense. He had fought with Vorenus last night, but it had never occurred to him until now that it might be the last time he ever saw him. "True, sir."

Caesar's eyes narrowed and he pointed to the injury. "Is Vorenus responsible?"

Pullo immediately shook his head. The denial of Vorenus' responsibility for that injury came easily, because it was true; he wondered if it would be so easy to deny the finger print bruises circling his wrists. "I… disobeyed an order," he admitted, before explaining the short skirmish with Ptolemy's men the night before.

Only once the story had been confirmed by the Lookout's captain, the man Vorenus had berated, did the conversation move on.

"What are we to presume?" Caesar asked eventually, coming to the only conclusion he could. "Was he bought?"

The ensuing silence as those present considered Caesar's question was too much for Pullo to bear. "Never!"

Pullo's passionate answer surprised Caesar. "You have another explanation?"

"He is loyal to you," Pullo insisted. "You know he would not have left…" He paused as the realisation of what he was saying hit him. "…willingly."

Caesar's answer was lost as another soldier appeared at the door and handed a hastily written note to Posca.

Reading it quickly, the slave's eyes widened at the news.

"All the Egyptian prisoners are missing too," he announced. "Their cells are open and empty."

Caesar took a deep breath. For his camp prefect and the Ptolemy prisoners to have all disappeared in one night was almost too much to comprehend. He had to gain control over the situation somehow. "They must be found," he decreed, speaking to his now highest-ranking soldier, the primus pilius. "Use every man you need, and find them." Pausing, he thought on what the queen would have to say about the situation.

"And Vorenus?" the centurion prompted.

Caesar's face hardened. The news about the Prefectus' disappearance would soon spread through the camp like wildfire, and rumours linking this to the missing prisoners were bound to follow. Caesar didn't know if there was any connection between the two, he only cared that the men would see one. "If he is no longer in camp, then he is no longer under the eagle, and as such must be regarded as an enemy." The others looked surprised by this harsh pronouncement, but Caesar knew it was necessary. Vorenus knew the rules. If he had been captured, he would be held in suspicion. If he had absconded willingly... he would have to be made an example of. "Vorenus is subject to the same laws as any man in my command. If he is found guilty of Desertion, fustuarium awaits him."

The Primus Pillius, set his jaw, as the other soldiers around him took a deep breath, he had no idea where he would even get the men to take part in that punishment. He doubted they would be queuing up to volunteer.

III

Standing in the steadily intensifying sunlight, Servius smiled widely. Standing as close as he was, the thin walls of the tent provided little secrecy, and Caesar's words lightened his heart.

Things could not have gone better had he planned it all himself. Not only was Vorenus going to get what he deserved, but a generous payment for the task that he would have done free hung heavy in the bag at his waist.

Moving back quickly as he heard footsteps leaving the tent, he bit his lip to keep from crying out at the pain that shot through his foot. He wasn't sure because he couldn't risk asking any of the Greek doctor's assigned to the camp, but he suspected he broke a toe last night.

III

Alone again once more in the tent, Pullo shivered. Despite the increasing temperature as the merciless Egyptian sun climbed higher above the camp, a chill wrapped around his heart. He'd never had someone in his life he cared enough about to be wounded by their disappearance.

Caesar had given the Primus Pilius until tonight to get more news, but Pullo couldn't wait that long, he had to do something himself. Unfortunately, his overriding need to find Vorenus didn't come with a plan on how to do it.

Wandering through the tent distractedly, his muscles twitched to do something. Picking up the heavy helmet lying atop Vorenus' heap of clothes, he brushed the sand from its dyed horse hair plume and placed it on the desk.

As he did he thought of Caesar's words and shook his head. He didn't care what the consul said, Vorenus would never be an enemy of his, and despite Caesar's suspicions he knew he would never be a traitor either. Which left only one possibility in Pullo's mind.

Reaching for the water jug he had spotted earlier, he emptied its icy contents over his head and dropped to his knees, his eyes still on the blood red plume. With the eagle of his shirt plastered firmly to his chest, a whisper to the soldiers' god formed on his lips and a divine request for help spilled from his heart.

"Mars… Show me those who have taken Vorenus, your faithful son, and I swear I will remove there hands and feet, and paint the sand red with the blood of their still beating heart's."

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A/n. so yay another one up, done and dusted and things aren't looking too rosy for the boys.

If you enjoyed, if you didn't, if you took a couple of minuets to read this chapter, please just take a few more seconds and leave a review. Buttons down there some where.. go on you can see it. ;-P

'cause I'm in a good mood, cookies for all.

Take care people; see ya next time PP xXx


	8. Revelations

A/n: 

yup i bet you thought i was never coming back, well it was touch and go, hehe. but here it is a new chapter.

Ok so i admit it, i was working on something else, but you know how it is when inspiration strikes you have to follow. I don't plan on giving this up any time soon, but I also don't plan on giving it much time either. Please be patient I'm sure it will be back.

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**To keep a Secret  
-Chapter Eight**

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With lit torch in hand, lighting his way through the encroaching darkness, Pullo spared a last look over his shoulder, gripped the vine weaving its way up the ancient brickwork, and began to climb.

The eagle shirt constricted his movement as he reached up for his next handhold. The clean shirt had felt slightly tight across his chest when he put it on that morning, the eagle slightly higher than usual, and with a cold shiver he had realised why; it belonged to Vorenus. At first it had provided comfort as he moved around the camp questioning everyone he could find. Now, as he threw himself onto the layered roof, he felt sick. It wasn't because he hadn't eaten, or the pain from his now bruised knuckles, but rather the feeling of loss that invaded his soul.

He had failed. The night had fallen and he had not found Vorenus.

Leaning forward, Pullo peered over the edge of the pitched roof as the Primus Pilus, now the highest-ranking officer in the camp, led his gang of centurions inside the palace. Without hearing their report Pullo already knew they had been no more successful than he had. He dreaded to think how Caesar would react when he found out.

Sitting back, he paused to contemplate his next move, and indeed what Caesar's would be. The consul had already threatened Vorenus with fustuarium, the sentence of death to be carried out by his own men, so what more could he do? Maybe it would be for the best if Vorenus wasn't found, Pullo realised. Then instead of being executed he would simply be banished from ever setting foot in Rome. Pullo could live with that, as long as he could find him. What he couldn't stand was the thought of remaining here with another man as his superior. Either way, his army career was over. Closing his eyes, Pullo sighed. He had been the one who wanted to stay in Egypt in the first place. Now Vorenus was gone and it was all his fault.

III

_Standing in the dusty courtyard the morning after their arrival in Egypt, all the men of rank shifted uncomfortably under the hot sun, bored and impatient. Waiting for Caesar was almost as much of a duty as making camp. News had already come that half the legion would be leaving with Mark Antony. Now they were just waiting to find how they would be split. Caesar appeared eventually, and walked the lines with an inspiring speech on his lips as always. Only when both the importance of staying and leaving had been highlighted, was it time._

"_Step forward," Caesar beckoned the senior centurions of each cohort. "Let me decide."_

_Not wanting to wait any longer for the decision that could change his life, Pullo barged his way to the front of his cohort and bumped into his commanding officer. Caught off-guard, Vorenus had to take a step forward to steady himself._

_His attention immediately drawn to him, Caesar's decision came quickly. "Staying."_

_Pullo beamed at the announcement. He knew he would get to stay too; there would be no discussion about that. Where Vorenus went, so did Pullo – as his official Optio, of course._

_Smiling as he thought about all the times they would get to be alone, he missed the way both Mark Antony's face and indeed Vorenus' darkened at Caesars announcement._

Even that night when Vorenus had confided in Pullo his disappointment at staying, concerned that it would mean even longer until he could return to his wife, Pullo's delight had not wavered. As far as he was concerned, the longer Vorenus was away from his cheating, undeserving wife the better.

Only now, on the top of the palace roof, a cold draught prickling his bare skin, did Pullo's delight fade as he remembered that day. If he hadn't been so desperate for a decision, perhaps it might have been a different one.

III

Sitting in the dark room, his back against the rough wall, Vorenus breathed deeply. His eyes were shut, but his mind was spinning.

The guard had left earlier, with a flurry of threats and accusations, but they didn't concern Vorenus. Instead, he wondered why his own commands hadn't been carried out. It was true he hadn't recognised the guard's face, but when he had finally turned and left, it was clear to the Roman why this Nubian held such a hatred for him. Red and still fresh welts crisscrossing each other over the man's uncovered back, unmistakably the product of Vorenus' own hand. He had been carried away when he dished out his punishment – today? Yesterday? He had lost track of the days in this dark cell. But he did remember demanding that the wounds be dressed, which obviously hadn't happened.

"Get up!" Taharqa's loud voice announced his return before he reappeared, pulling Vorenus' attention sharply into focus. Silently he did as he was told.

"You think you hurt me, Roman," Taharqa began another barrage of insults.

Vorenus rolled his eyes. The guard's words meant nothing to him.

"You wait 'til I receive word – your death will be long and painful, I promise you, and when I am done, I will kill all you Roman pigs."

Vorenus took a deep breath. Threats to him were one thing, threats to his men were another.

"Pillo?" Tahraqa pronounced the name wrong, but was pleased when Vorenus finally moved his head. "Huh! You think I don't hear you when you whip me, you think I don't understand. I understand. He your friend. He I kill first!" With no fear of the Roman, Taharqa stepped closer to spit more of his threats into the his face. He was enjoying this, the powerful Roman at his mercy. How the tables had turned!

Vorenus' eyes twitched, which would have been enough to warn anyone who knew him that they were on dangerous ground. Unfortunately, Taharqa knew nothing of the Roman.

"I kill him, and I wash my hands in his worthless blood. Maybe I kill him first. In front of you."

Taking a deep breath, Vorenus drew himself up and in one swift motion head-butted the guard with all of his force.

III

Cleopatra stomped back and forth in front of her servant, finally free from Caesar's side for the first time all day. "I am happy, but what of the other?" she demanded, her heels clicking against the stone.

"Without his master, he will be yours to bend." Charmian smiled as she repeated the words Servius had reassured her with.

"Dead too then," Cleopatra demanded, as she picked up a light scarf from the bed and draped it around her shoulders. She would leave no risk. It was a shame though; she had enjoyed her night with the soldier, but his skill was not worth the threat he posed. "Get the guards to wait in the catacombs and we shall send him down to them."

Charmian nodded. "Of course."

"And send this for them." The queen moved quickly towards the dresser and reached down to the bottom drawer. "Oh..." she groaned as again her swollen stomach got in her way, and she was forced back upright.

Falling to her knees immediately, Charmian retrieved the small, engraved box with the filigree lid that she knew the queen was reaching for.

Leaning against the bed, her hand pushed into the small of her back, the queen blew a strand of hair out of her face. "You know what to do with it," she snapped.

Charmian nodded and got to her feet. "As you wish."

III

Lashing out as the pain screamed across his face, Taharqa hit back at the Roman with the only weapon he had.

Never normally one to show his pain, Vorenus now gasped for air, as what he had was forced from his aching lungs. The flame from the torch Taharqa hit him with licked easily through his thin shirt, and burnt his flesh until it dropped still burning to the sand.

Holding his palm against his bleeding nose and bathing his hands in his own blood, Taharqa growled against the resulting pain. "You will regret that," he spat at the Roman.

Bent double, Vorenus forced his head up to meet the man's eyes. "I doubt it."

Shouting words Vorenus couldn't decipher, Taharqa stumbled away, leaving the flaming torch where it had fallen, and spitefully kicking over the cup of water he had earlier placed in the cell as he went.

Only when the door had slammed shut behind his foe did Vorenus allow the pain to overcome him, and he fell to the floor. Instinctively his arms shot around his stomach to protect the fresh wound but still it hurt more than he had ever expected.

The only thing that that hurt worse was the thought of Pullo, alone in the camp, and what he would get up to without Vorenus there to watch over him.

III

Pullo's eyes opened as he heard a soft voice echo around the empty courtyard. He didn't remember falling asleep but as he cast a quick glance to the stars he found them duller than when he had last looked. Sliding forward as the voices came once more, he looked down at the scene below.

The queen's servant stood talking rapidly to someone in the shadows. Squinting to see, he leant as far forward as he could without losing his footing completely.

"Your payment was for both, so now we expect you to deliver."

"That was not the deal. Don't you understand what you're asking?"

Charmian took a step back, and Pullo frowned as her companion followed her in to the light. What on earth was the queen's servant doing with Servius?

"Further payment then," she offered, and from the folds of her dress produced a golden necklace with a stone so big it seemed to reflect the entire moon.

Pullo's expression only turned darker, as Servius practically snatched the jewel from her hands.

III

As the Roman soldier slipped away into the shadows, Charmian couldn't help but cast a glance up to the roof. The light she had noticed there earlier as she had left the queen's bedroom now moved away before disappearing completely. She smiled. Neither soldier knew her plan, but neither needed to. Gesturing for a slave she had asked to wait for her, she quickly whispered orders to him.

III

Tripping as quickly as he could, Servius headed back to his tent with the small box Charmian had given him grasped carefully in his hands. When he accepted the queen's original task he hadn't realised he would became a messenger boy too. But then again who was he to argue? It was the nicer of the two tasks Charmian had demanded of him tonight, and besides, the heavy necklace she had produced would make a nice addition to what he had already been paid.

Looking down at the box he held tight, Charmian's orders replayed in his head. _"Do not open it, do not drop it. Deliver it to the guards. They will know what to do."_

Distracted by thoughts of what it could be that he carried, he failed to see the foot appear in front of him, and catching his own foot on it he fell face first into the sand.

Immediately rolling to look up at his attacker, Servius felt his heart race for his mouth as he found the cold eyes of Pullo looking down at him, his face as dark as Mars himself.

"I think there's something you want to tell me."

III

Taharqa squinted through his swollen eyes at the slave sent by Charmian. His head pounded and his back ached, but no matter; his freedom was worth it. His loyalties had lain with Ptolemy right until the moment Cleopatra had promised him that. That and the freedom to treat the Roman who had beaten him however he liked while he was held prisoner.

"More?" he repeated, and fought back the sigh. "Do not worry, we shall be ready."

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A/n: Hmm will servius get what he deserves? will pillo (lol) find vorenus? will vorenus live to be found? will the next chapter come any quicker than this one?

answers next time, i promise ;P

I know i have no right to ask after waiting so long, but please review. love you. PP xx


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